


But You Live for It

by gaysquared



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Crime Sorcière, Erik's just trying to hold on for the ride tbh, Implied Hypersexuality, Jellal has PTSD, Jellal is mentally ill, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Probably sex gonna happen, Sexual Tension, and i love him, but like idk when, fucking in tents and shit, living in the forest???, my stream of consciousness ass just needs this ok, pray for Erik's patience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-18 08:41:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 25,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10613301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaysquared/pseuds/gaysquared
Summary: Jellal and Erik have been dancing around each other for a while now. Sometimes the strangest things cause us to collide.- Could technically be a continuation of the "Seven Times" fic-





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of a continuation of the "Seven Times Jellal and Erik Almost Kissed and One Time They Actually Did," but I tried to include a sort of flashback so that this would make more sense. 
> 
> However, I do think reading that first might put this in better perspective? Mostly in terms of how I developed the characters in that story.

The summer heat has begun to work its way into the forests of Fiore, trees blossoming green and heavy, blooms hanging low. The air is thick with different scents and a growing slick of sweat and the headiness of dirt. The summer rains won't come for at least another month, if Crime Sorcière has counted correctly, and dust stirs up under their feet when they walk now.

The heat is mild, not yet oppressive as it soon might be, spring still only slightly behind them. Jellal has developed an arguably unhealthy habit of looking at Erik as they walk; his bronze skin darkens under the sun and his hair glows red under the brightening light of day; Jellal takes a sort of solace in watching beads of sweat stripe away the dust clinging to Erik's skin.

He always looks away just before Erik looks back at him. For all he knows, Erik probably still knows he's looking; but he can't bring himself to care.

Something heavy and bright has been hovering in Jellal's chest for months now. He's not sure what to call it; but it beats with his heart and intrigues him. The air seems thicker when he stands near Erik; a palpable taste to tension unnamed but by no means unexamined. Jellal has spent days pouring over the feeling, mind wandering as they walk; there's never been much more to do but think when they're traveling on foot. Usually Jellal hates this, but it's yielded interesting results as of late.

He thinks the attention might be worming it's way under Erik's skin. The man glances back at him more and more often, eye swift and suspicious, something light and searching in his gaze. Jellal can't find the mercy in himself to address it in any way. He just keeps looking, and lets Erik wonder.

When Erik trips and scrapes his hand, Jellal can't help but stare at the beading redness of his blood, even as they stop so Erik can bandage himself. It smells like battle. It smells like violence. And he can't help but remember.

_The sweat clings to Jellal’s brow, his chest aching as his breath slows, the adrenaline of battle still thrumming in his veins. His steps are light as he makes his way to Crime Sorciére’s rendezvous point, blood thrumming in his legs, when he steps into a clearing to see Erik resting against a tree, eye closed as he catches his breath._

_“Our glorious leader returns to us?” Erik heaves out, managing a grin as he opens his eye. Jellal doesn’t bother wondering how Erik knew for certain it was him. He doesn’t have the energy or time. He steps forward, cautious, curious, his feet stilling on the mossy forest floor. He studies Erik’s face, and the man raises an eyebrow._

_“You get hit on the head or somethin’?” Erik asks, breathing slowly returning to normal. “Meredy’s gonna bitch if you’re late, you know.”_

_Sweat drips down the dirtied bronze of Erik’s temple, and the wine-dark eye goes curious. Jellal walks forward again, heels pressing hard into the mud, and Erik laughs.  
“What, you gonna punch me again?” he says._

_Jellal’s almost in his space now, a couple feet away, and Erik seems to grow confused. “Seriously, what–?”_

_He presses his lips to Erik’s insistently, holding back the force that he can, although it still ends up a hard push as his body propels him forward. He’s stuck in Erik’s space now, bodies close, but he lets that thought go when the other man’s lips move around his._

_His lungs whine in the thin air, heart still beating fast, but he is busy, enveloped in the soft twist of a kiss. He breathes into it, Erik’s hands coming up to grip his face hard, certain; Jellal lets him; ops to push into his space deeper. He tangles fingers in burgundy hair and traces the paths of dripped-sweat down Erik’s neck with a mindless touch._

_The awkward twist of his nose on Erik’s face, their clashed teeth; both have long disappeared into the long drag of hungry lips trying to speak. Jellal presses into Erik’s heat, imagines inhaling it through his pores as if it were a life force, but he takes Erik’s open mouth instead. Erik grunts against his lips, breathes shaky, and Jellal is stepping back with a gasp, a wrenching motion on his own body._

_Erik simply stares at him, rather dumbstruck. Jellal glances up at him, curious to see Erik’s eyelashes and at the same time remember the tickle of them on his own face moments before. Something bright and uncontrollable flairs in his chest and he knows he will never be able to put it out._

_“Good work out their today,” he huffs, clearing his hair out of his face. He levels Erik with his eyes. “You fought well. Didn’t die and all.”_

_He pushes past Erik and forward, because Meredy really will kill him, and; he knows, eventually, even if it takes time’s indecisive touch, Erik will follow after him. A grin envelopes his face and burns down into his chest as the leaves crunch underfoot._

Jellal stares as the red seeps through the bandage, his stomach flipping curiously. Erik catches him looking. Jellal swallows.

Something has bloomed inside him with spring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments give me life??? Pls... also ty


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what I'm doing but there's fruit and making out in this chapter so enjoy? This is kinda the set up for the rest of the story while the previous chapter was like a prologue, I guess.

They set up camp as soon as they find another water source; Macbeth naps as Meredy begins to unpack the tents. 

"Nah," Sawyer is saying. He points at Erik and Jellal. "Make them do food duty. We've been switching it out for the past month and they haven't done it once."

"That's because you get it done the fastest, Racer," Sorano says. 

Sawyer frowns. "Yeah, and when I do you complain because I don't come back with the best looking shit. I'm sorry if I come back with a few fucking twigs when I'm traveling at the speed of sound."

Meredy sighs, standing. "Guys, calm down." She turns to Jellal. "He is right, though. Neither of you have done food duty in over a month."

Erik squints, probably trying to look angry. "Neither has Macbeth."

Meredy's mouth sets a bit thin, and Jellal's lips quirk at the sight. "We can barely get him to take a turn on watch, Erik, you know that."

Erik grumbles something back, as if hunting and gathering is the worst thing he could possibly be tasked with; as if setting up tents is so enjoyable either. 

"Let's just get it over with," Jellal says. "They deserve a break anyways."

Erik looks back at him. He frowns. "Fine. But next time you're dragging along someone else."  
_______

They track through the forest for a good twenty minutes, Jellal looking for any good fruit trees he can pick on the way back; it makes sense for them to hunt something small and then gather anything else edible on the way back. So far they haven't found much; Erik has heard a couple of rabbits in the grass, but no effort in pursuing them has come to fruition.

Jellal eyes the trees; many of them are beginning to bare fruit, but almost none of it has ripened to anything edible yet. His feet are tired from the long day of walking; sore, arches spasming with each step. 

Erik is complaining in his usual manner behind him, stopping at odd intervals when he thinks he hears something. Jellal tunes him out to look at the trees; rotting flowers, fallen, litter the forest floor. 

"Let's get closer to the creek," Jellal says, thinking about the fruit trees that might wait closer to the water. "There might be fish."

Erik quietly, if not a bit reluctantly, agrees.  
_____________

They've been walking another ten minutes when Jellal starts to hear the water; he wonders how much longer Erik's been hearing it. He scans for color, looking for fruit, when purple flashes in the corner of his eye. Erik stops behind him, bemused. 

"Wait here," Jellal says, not looking back. 

"What're you doing?" Erik calls, annoyed. Jellal pays him no mind. 

There's a large tree directly in front of him, tall as it is old, roots large and rising up from the ground in thick coils. The brightest purple fruits are just a few feet too high for Jellal to reach, and that's when he decides to reach for a low branch. 

"Seriously, what the hell?" Erik is calling, walking up behind Jellal to the base of the roots. 

"Figs," Jellal answers. "First ripening of the season. Won't be more until July or August."

He's pushing his shoes against the bark, trying to lift himself up; it's difficult with the little grit he has left on these worn boots. He almost slips, but catches himself, and pulls himself up. Erik is watching intently, a furrow in his brow. 

Jellal heaves out a breath as he straddles a branch about five feet off the ground; it looks sturdy enough to hold him. The fruits up by his head are large and heavy, a deep violet. 

"You really think that's safe?" Erik asks, annoyance attempting to mask any concern. Jellal pretends not to notice. 

"It's fine," he assures. "Let me throw, like, fifteen down, I'll be quick." He reaches, and begins to pick. He tries to aim them in a neat pile below him, nestled in the tree's roots; it's a bit more difficult than it looks, but he manages. Every fruit he pulls off the stem releases something sweet into the air; it feels good to have the sun off his back for a moment in the shade of the leaves. 

He's picked most of the fruit directly around his head, and his stomach growls. He licks his lips; there's a particularly bulbous, deep-colored fruit resting just a couple feet out of arms reach. He hooks his knees, scoots forward, reaches; it's not quite enough. 

"Jellal, seriously, be careful," Erik chastises. "Meredy'll chew me out," he adds quietly. It's half-hearted at best. 

It's easy to ignore him. Just another foot. He can hear the branch creaking under his weight. He scoots just a few inches forward. So close... he reaches. It's almost at his finger tips. He breathes, steadies himself. He heaves forward, snapping wildly with his hand, and retrieves the fig easily.

He almost falls; he can feel it. He hopes it isn't visible. Doesn't matter; he begins to back up off the branch either way. 

Getting back down is a bit of a task with one of his hands still holding the fig; he doesn't know why he doesn't just throw it down with the rest; it just doesn't feel right. He begins to slip down off the branch, his landing angled the way it should be; but he wasn't thinking of the gnarled roots, and when his feet hit the ground, he begins to tip backwards. 

Strong arms, a sweaty chest to his head, catch him. He curses himself. 

"Seriously, you could fuckin' kill yourself like that," Erik says, but it's so close to Jellal's ear that he can't help but shiver. He shakes Erik off; stands. 

"'M fine," he says. He gives a laugh; he's a little out of breath. He holds the fig up in his palm, as if producing his prize. Erik simply stares at him; Jellal isn't sure what the deal is. 

"We never could get these in the tower," he says, wiping over the skin of the fruit with his thumb, cleaning it. "But I always liked them after I got out, you know?"

Erik doesn't even nod. Jellal feels annoyance run through him, pushes it down. It doesn't matter what Erik thinks. 

He takes a bite of the fig; the honeyed flavor bursts over his tongue. Seeds crunch between his teeth as they tear through the soft flesh. It's a heavenly thing, the tang that hits as he chews, juice running down his chin. It quenches a thirst he didn't know he was harboring, and he wants to smile around the small seeds in his mouth, but resists. 

Erik moves towards him, his standard look of annoyance morphing into something Jellal honestly doesn't recognize. Jellal relaxes against the tree trunk as he chews, juice starting to drip between his finger tips as the fig is squeezed in his palm. Erik has his eyebrows raised, expectant. Of something. Jellal doesn't know what. 

"You do that shit and make me--" he looks up in Jellal's eyes. "Almost get me in trouble." He eyes the fruit in Jellal's palm. "Gimme some of that."

Jellal offers it freely, raising his eyebrows. Erik glances at his face, swipes the fruit from his hand; Jellal pretends not to notice the warmth of Erik's hand over his. 

"Good?" Erik asks, juice dripping onto his own palm, and Jellal shrugs. 

"See for yourself."

Erik gives him a look at that, but lifts the fruit to his mouth anyways. His lips stretch around it as he bites; he glances up at Jellal's eyes and Jellal feels a thrill when he doesn't look away. Neither of them do. Erik's teeth close around the flesh, his lips stained red by the juice. He chews, jaw flexing, and he looks down at the fruit in his hand. 

"Not bad," he says. "Might need another taste."

Jellal waits for him to take another bite, but Erik just keeps looking at him. The dragon-slayer licks the juice off him palm, stepping closer into Jellal's space. 

The staccato beat of Jellal's heart quickens, beating so hard it's like he can feel it all through his body. He feels dizzy. Two strong hands land on the bark on either sides of Jellal's neck. 

Jellal licks his lips, tasting fig juice on them. He must be stained, just like Erik. Erik stares at him curiously; Jellal wonders when Erik even dropped the fig in the first place. All the proof of its existence that's left in his vision is the ruby of Erik's lips. 

"A taste?" Jellal says, like it's a question, and he feels himself swallow thickly. 

Erik's so close, Jellal can see his eyelashes. "Just a--" the man begins to say in a low tone. Jellal doesn't let him finish the sentence. 

His eyes close before their lips connect, like he's on a trajectory he couldn't stray from if he wanted. The first press is harsh, a push for more, close mouthed. He opens up. 

Erik tastes like fig, and Jellal finds himself shoved roughly into the tree, but he doesn't care. Sticky hands wrap around his thighs and he breathes hot into Erik's mouth, gripping at Erik's collar. 

Their bodies press together, and Jellal feels high off the way Erik smells, the way he grips tight at Jellal's skin. He smells dust and sweat and sweetness, lips twisting harsh together. He doesn't care. All he can feel is the friction between them; it tingles up his back, he wants to tip his head into the bark. 

Erik gives a growl into his mouth, hips pushing into Jellal's, and he's hard before he notices it, his body throbbing an echo to his own arousal, and Erik twists off his lips to nose at his neck. 

Jellal thinks Erik is about to nip at him, waits for the sensation, their bodies pressed together, but the feeling never comes. 

Erik looks up. 

"Someone's calling for us," he says, breathless. His eyes tell Jellal he's telling the truth. 

Jellal heaves a heavy breath, still feeling a bit drunk, and Erik backs up softly. 

"Should we go?" Jellal asks. He wants to stay here. He wants to pretend there's nothing but them. But he knows that's not true. 

"We'll take the figs," Erik says. He licks his lips. "I hear fish in the creek. We'll say we were gonna come back for them."

Jellal nods. "Okay. Yeah."

Erik turns away, still breathing a bit heavy. Jellal bends down to start putting the figs he'd thrown down earlier into his bag. As he stands, he sees the fruit they'd been eating just moments ago; two bites curving it into something empty and thin. He crushes it under his boot. 

They walk back to camp; Erik is oddly quiet on the way back. Perhaps it isn't surprising. Jellal sniffs, adjusting his bag on his shoulder, and looks back at Erik as the man walks behind him. Erik sees him looking. Jellal lets him. 

When he turns forward, he breathes deep. It's fine. Erik knows. He knows this isn't over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what will keep this fic going! Also comments just make me happy lmao. I'm not totally sure how I want this fic to turn out so input is appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jellal commits arson, and is in general real angsty. Meredy maybe finally catches a bit of a break. I think I accidentally made everyone really gay. 
> 
> Also, way more Ultear than I intended there to be, but the more the merrier? Not a lot of gay shit in this chapter; mostly some filler/plot for Jellal working through his shit.

_There's a pounding in his ears._

_His hands are shaking as he scrambles at the pile of kindling, launching it with inaccuracy at the logs he's already thrown haphazardly togeth_ er. _He can't breathe. He ignores it._

_It feels like nothing more than some sick joke. Betrayal beats heavy in his chest, nausea boiling in him as he chokes down all the thoughts and feelings threatening to burst out of his skin._

_She's gone._

_He'd been trying to nap that afternoon and every feeling of betrayal and anger had hit him so suddenly, like they'd been waiting for the calm in order to strike, to wage war on him. It'd been less than a day since she left._

_He'd stood up, breath already coming faster, and known what to do._

_He scrambles with the cloth and sheathed wood under his grip; pressing it down, taking no time to fold it. He wills in to compress under him, pushes hard, bears down with his fists until he hears the wood in the lining snap. It all fits under his armpit, like this, and he figures that's good enough, so he heaves it up._

_Meredy is yelling at him, coming closer, but he can barely hear her. The fire is already going strong and he's done waiting._

_He keeps swallowing thickly, his spit feeling like sticky tar in his throat, his chest aching desperately as he hyperventilates._

_What kind of goodbye was this? What kind of ending? He feels weak, wobbling on his feet as he nears the fire._

_What a "fuck you," that is. A woman who could've called herself the fucking devil looking cleansed, happy,_ pure even _, and fuck her for everything she's done to him. He can't stop shaking._

 _What does it say, huh? That the demoness who broke him has found peace, and left him, told him he would never have to feel that way again, and still she left him, in this fucking purgatory. As if to say,_ even your tormentors deserve forgiveness more than you _._ Even the people who made you this way _._

_He sucks in a final breath before he throws the mangled tent into the flames, and Meredy is just behind him, screaming at him. He watches the fire start to curiously edge along the fabric and in minutes, the tent is black under the rising flames._

_Meredy cries behind him, and he can't feel a damn thing._

_________

After the remaining Oracion Seis joined Crime Sorcière, they had, for a time, a total of five tents. While he undoubtedly preferred to sleep outside, winter had been coming, and he and Ultear agreed they would need shelter; but they only had so much coin, and could only carry so much with them as they traveled.

One had been for Ultear. Another for him, although he often offered it to Meredy on warm nights. The other three, Meredy and the Oracion Seis gang shared between them by doubling up.

That was, until, Ultear had left, and Jellal had promptly burned her tent in a fit of grief and rage. That left only one tent that could house a singular person. After much arguing, and debate, they had agreed to all take turns sleeping in it (at least when all the tents were needed). Otherwise, they were sleeping under the stars, or bundled up next to a bedmate.

Jellal had done his best to sleep outside as much as possible; and when it wasn't, due to snow or cold, he opted for his tent back. It was few and far between enough that the others didn't take much grievance in it. That was, until the spring rains came.

It rained almost every night, and he had no choice but to share a tent with Richard, Sawyer, or Macbeth, respectively, as the weeks went on. He later realized he had never shared a tent with Erik, and wondered if he had been subconsciously avoiding it. He doesn't know.

_________

The sun sets red that summer night, and it doesn't take long for the fight to break out.

Most nights he can sleep outside again, now, but not this time.

"Jellal," Meredy is pleading. "Please. You know I hardly ever get to have the tent to myself."

Jellal sighs. The rest of the group glares at him, but Meredy is right; although yes, he may be a little partial to her and her puppy dog eyes; it's hard not to give in to someone who so closely resembles a little sister. Still, she's correct. This is mostly due to the fact that she is the only one Sorano will agree to sleep next to, refusing to share with any of the men.

Meredy is still giving him that pleading look, having argued her case, and behind them, Sorano sighs.

"Fine," the white-haired woman says. "I suppose I can stand sleeping next to Macbeth for one night. He's gay as hell anyways."

There's a quiet, "You fucking know it," from the back, which Jellal ignores.

Meredy is turning to Sorano, looking absolutely enthused. "Really?" she says. "You mean it?"

Sorano scowls slightly, but nods. "Yeah. Whatever. As long as you'll shut up."

Meredy envelops the girl in an arguably unwanted hug.

"I find myself to be quite polite company," Richard pipes up, sounding disappointed. "I would think you would trust sleeping next to me."

Sorano lifts an eyebrow, finally detaching Meredy from her body. "Well, yeah, in terms of sexual advances. But don't think the others haven't told me how you like to cuddle."

"Speaking of," Erik says, mouth opening for the first time in about ten minutes. "I'm not rooming with him again. Sorry, Richard. I need my space."

Richard is visibly pouting. "It's... ok. Not everybody likes to receive love close up. Some prefer from afar. I can always sleep next to Jellal, I suppose."

"About that," Sawyer says suddenly. "I can't sleep next to Erik anymore. He just sits there the whole time, staring into the dark. It's fucking creepy. I want a night off."

Erik glares at him. "You know I can't sleep next to other people! It's too loud! What else am I supposed to do?"

"I don't know!" Sawyer exclaims. "But it doesn't matter, I'm sharing with Richard tonight. The cuddles aren't that bad anyways."

It should probably be strange that no one even bats an eye at this comment.

"So, that leaves me and Macbeth," Sorano says. "And then...?"

Jellal catches on, looking at Erik. The man shrugs.

"I won't be sleeping either way," he grumbles.

Jellal swallows, but Meredy deserves this, and the fact that he's gotten this much compromise out of an extremely stubborn group of people is already a miracle.

"Okay," he says. "Erik and I will share."

Sorano nods, Macbeth shrugs, and Richard seems to have found a lady bug, staring at it avidly as it crawls across his palm.

"Then it's settled," Erik says, wearing his default expression of annoyance. "Jellal and I, Richard and Sawyer, Sorano and Macbeth, and then Pinky..."

He trails off, no doubt looking for where she'd been standing only moments ago. "Aaand, she already went to put her stuff in the tent," he finishes.

Jellal sees Sorano looking up at the sky, and realizes why as the first raindrop hits his head.

__________

They don't talk as they settle in, which isn't really surprising. Jellal is, however, surprised at how easily he falls asleep. Even though his body is on alert, he's exhausted, and he's strangely comforted by the fact that Erik won't be sleeping. It should alarm him, probably. He stops caring as his mind drags him down into a cloudy sleep.

He's sitting, but he doesn't know where. He blinks, looks up, sees an apple dangling from a tree above him. That would mean he's probably outside, but when he looks down, he sees marble. The floor is polished stone.

A woman stands before him. He can see clouds in the rising sun through a window.

He's dreamt about her plenty of times, but it's never been like this. It's light, and beautiful in this room that seems to shift and change, spilling over and about on itself.

"Ultear?" he says, soft.

"Jellal," she answers, giving an honest smile. "I've missed you."

He shakes his head, only for an apple to fall in his lap, and he looks up to see the leaves of the apple tree rapidly going yellow.

"Sorry," she says, and it's soft, soft like he never knew her. "Time and all."

"What do you want?" he asks; as if he could be patient, even in his own dreams.

She frowns slightly, agitation fighting in her features, but it doesn't seem aimed at him. She takes the apple from him, her hand soft with youth, dark hair spilling over her robe like tendrils of ink.

"I wanted to tell you something," she says, looking at him curiously, and he doesn't know what to say.  
"You're very good at not listening to yourself," she offers, lips curving a bit; he raises his eyebrows.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he asks, the defensiveness all too natural. She shakes her head, taking a bite of the apple. She chews, looking solemn, and swallows.

"Listen to your intuition. That's all." She tilts her head. "There are answers, Jellal. Even when you think there are none."

"Why should I listen to you?" he asks. "You're just a dream."

She shrugs. "Maybe." Lightning fast, she catches a brown leaf as it falls through the air. "But that doesn't stop time."

Jellal looks up to see the leaves falling off the apple tree, several landing in his hair. He can feel the room getting colder; the light dims, as if the sun is going down.

"Don't make my same mistakes," she's saying, and that's obvious enough, isn't it? But then she says, "Be open."

There's a creeping darkness now, closing in on them, and Jellal's heart starts to pound, although he doesn't really know why. "I don't know what that means!"

He closes his eyes, and when he looks up, her face is frosted with snow, flakes dangly prettily in her eyelashes.

"Be open," and this time she gestures with her arms, as blood starts to run out her nose. She closes her eyes, falling backward; frozen, her face blue.

"Ultear!" he shrieks, and he's bolting upright, as if to catch her, but when he blinks, he's back in a dark tent, no tree or old friend to be found.

For a second, it's quiet.

He breathes deep, chest heaving, and notices Erik's proximity to him. The man is also sitting up, almost over him, hand on Jellal's shoulder.

"What are you doing?" Jellal asks, voice sounding more gravelly and numb than he expected. "Don't touch me," he adds, quiet, and Erik retracts his hand like it's been burned.

Jellal can hear the pounding of rain on the roof of the tent. He wants to melt into it when Erik looks at him like that.

"I could hear you, in your sleep," the man says. "You were upset. I was just trying to wake you up. Help out."

Jellal doesn't say anything; the back of his neck is soaked with sweat.

And then, very quiet, Erik says, "I'm sorry." He clears his throat.

Jellal doesn't look at him.

"Don't go out in the rain or anything, yeah?"

Jellal nods, numb. "Yeah."

Erik nods, rolling over as if he's going to sleep. Jellal does the same, but his shoulder seems to burn where he's been touched. He swallows, and waits to feel numb again. The rain is enough to put him back to sleep; eventually.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk what I'm doing help
> 
> Comments keep me alive
> 
> (They'll fuck in the tent eventually don't get pissy)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You get some smutty things! Good for you.

The next day is all that quiet silence that comes after rain. It's eerie, and it seeps under Jellal's skin, curling around his insides. At first, it's easy to ignore; he busies himself with collecting firewood, catching fish, and feeling glad the ground is dry enough by late afternoon that he'll be able to sleep outside that night.

Erik doesn't talk to him. The whole group doesn't talk much, honestly; even Meredy is a bit more pensive than usual, although Jellal suspects she's simply humming with the calm of a good night's rest. They pick at bass roasted over the fire as the sun goes down, and Jellal settles on a blanket under the stars to sleep.

It takes him what feels like hours to drift off.  
________

He wakes with the kind of quiet panic that always accompanies nightmares. It's just after dawn, and he can feel the black tendrils of fear still wrapped about his lungs, clawing at him, and he breathes in deep, slapping his hands on the ground to try and feel like he's inside his own body again.

It takes a minute to come down. There's still a faint impression, when he closes his eyes, of screaming, squirming feelings; but he's used to that by now. He shivers, the morning air chilly against the sweat on his forehead, and flops back down on his blanket. He breathes, looking up at the pink sky, counts the wandering clouds.

There's a rustling behind him; he stills, careful not to go completely rigid, and waits. There's a hushed grunt of someone standing; Erik, he recognizes, after a moment; has crawled out of his tent.

Jellal listens to his footfalls as the man begins to walk away from the camp, into the forest. He turns his head slightly, cracks an eye open. He can see the edges of brown trousers and worn boots disappearing behind trees, and breathes steadily.

After a minute is passed, he stands; his body protests, back aching, but he ignores it. It's easy to follow the tracks going northeast into the trees, so he does.  
_________

He's only been walking a few minutes when he stops in his tracks at the sound of a voice.

"I can hear you, you know," Erik says, and Jellal turns to see him sitting on a rock, slightly shaded by the branch of a large oak tree.

Jellal sighs, smoothing a palm over his tired eyes.

"Sorry."

Erik raises his brows. "For what? I mean, sure, it is kinda fucking weird when somebody follows me into the woods when I'm just trying to take my morning piss, but I've seen cats that talk, so I figured we were just kinda going with it."

Jellal almost finds himself grinning at that, biting the inside of his cheek. "I didn't mean to intrude," he says. Erik only looks at him. Jellal corrects himself. "Well, okay, I did, but not in that particular way."

Erik shrugs, standing. "Whatever. This is usually when I walk back to camp to call dibs on a job where I don't have to do much, so..."

Jellal nods, biting his lip. He can tell Erik is hesitating, looking for a response; otherwise, the man would have just brushed past him by now. There's an ache in the pit of his stomach, so he steps forward.

It's not the first time Jellal has backed Erik up into a tree, although it's probably a bit less harsh than that initial occasion. He closes his lips over Erik's and shuts his eyes at the same time; he keeps them closed tight until Erik's hands are warm on his face. There's tenderness there, and it makes Jellal feel a way he can only describe as the way you feel when you slip on ice.

Except Erik is pushing him away; not hard, but he is. "What're you doing?" he asks, and Jellal doesn't have an answer.

He looks down at the ground between them, chest going tight in a way he doesn't understand.

"You're pale," Erik says, and it's quiet. He sighs; breathes between them for a moment. Jellal presses his eyes closed. "Not that I'm exactly a master of words," Erik is saying, and there's a quiet chuckle there; "but _why_ are you doing this? Cause you're kinda the king of cryptic answers."

Jellal swallows, and something in him ops for honesty. "If I knew right now," he says, voice a bit rough, "I'd probably tell you."

Erik hums, and Jellal can feel himself beginning to shake; he's not afraid, he thinks, but there's something about the way Erik's touch lingers casually on his shoulders that makes his head hurt.

"If it's like that," Erik says, and Jellal has never seen the other man this open, this exposed. Maybe it's because Jellal has inadvertently exposed himself first. "Maybe you should stay," Erik finishes. "Running only wastes energy." And there's that wry, prideful smile Jellal knows so well; he feels himself dipping into it, sinking by the moment; and panic and softness flair simultaneously next to his heart.

He kisses Erik again; just for a moment, like he's trying to figure out what it means based off of how it feels. Erik looks at him, and Jellal feels himself hating the perceptive eye before him. He clears his throat.

"Stay?" he whispers.

Erik simply grins into his skin.

_________

  
Minutes later he's breathing hard as the sun begins to shine through the trees, and Erik is speaking into the soft flesh of his neck, over and over, and Jellal realizes he's asking a question. It's "can I touch you?" and Jellal fumbles over "yes," until it makes sense on his tongue, until it's the only thing coming out.

Erik's teeth are sharp on his lip and Jellal ruts into the sensation of the other man's hand, body humming with feeling that slops about on his nerves like a barely-balanced bottle of wine. He feels his mind scrambling, the need to reciprocate beating in his skull, his hands traveling a confused path; but Erik shushes him.

When he comes over Erik's hand, he strangles a grunt in his throat and he's panting; his chest flutters with it and settles in a way like now a piece of a previously complete puzzle is missing. He lets it. He lets Erik suck his bottom lip; the man is moving to pull at himself, and Jellal feels almost alien in his own body.

Erik comes quietly, and the sound reverberates against Jellal's abused lips. Erik breathes sharp against his neck, hot air puffing against the pounding of Jellal's pulse. They come down together; Erik wipes his hand on the tree.

Jellal stands, feeling like a ghost, legs weak beneath him, yet both the men are still pulled together tight. Erik gives a puff of breath, a chuckle against his ear, and Jellal comes back to earth in a way more gentle than he's ever experienced.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said you got smut, not resolution. It's bittersweet. Like yeah, they're touching dicks, but you still have to wait for any more explanation.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of the same, mostly. Tension, smutty stuff, Erik and Jellal trying to debauch every tree they come upon. 
> 
> (Haha, come upon. Accidental double entendre).

Jellal retreats into himself that next week like he always does. It's easy, when they Guild is moving on, packed up and ready, just a few days later, for a day's walk. He walks near the back of the sprawling train of his Guild-mates, which just happens to be the furthest away from Erik.

He spends the day in his thoughts, only sneaking glances at the man, whom his body has seemed to tie itself to, every so often.

They all collapse at their new camping spot an hour before sunset; just enough time to set up the tents and a fire and catch food.  
Meredy sees the bags under his eyes, and as perceptive as she quite often is, asks him to just keep watch at the campsite. He doesn't have the energy to argue.

Macbeth naps a few yards behind him; the girls have gone off to look for water, and he thinks Sawyer and Richard are hunting. He assumes, anyways. Everything's a little fuzzy, lights skirting across his vision when he lifts his head too quickly.

There's a chance he's been over-doing it lately.

A loud thud rouses him; he looks up to see Erik chopping firewood. He must have found some usable tree branches; he's removed his shirt, hot as the rest of them under the summer sun. The sound is dull but loud as his axe hits the stump stabilizing his work; the two halves crack and splinter in half, falling with a helpless, strangely chaotic grace to the ground.

Jellal watches the muscles in Erik's arms and neck and back flex as if in slow-motion; it seems an eternity, as he sets up the next swing, brings it down. He's sweating, tan skin shining gold in the setting sun.

Jellal sets his lips thin, swallowing. Sweat flicks into the air, springing from Erik's forehead when he runs a hand through his hair. Jellal only has the decency to look away, but it's moments later when he feels eyes on him.

Jellal is used to passing through life like a ghost, a spectre, a passing shimmer in the wind. He's gotten very good at not being seen. He thinks this is perhaps why it is so irritating that Erik has figured out how to see him; and always looks exactly when he never wishes to be seen.

Laughter reaches his ears and he looks up to see Meredy wandering into the camp, Sorano behind her. The pink-haired girl is giggling, the hem of her dress wet, dragging in the dirt.

"We found quite a nice stream," Meredy says, turning her attention to the men in front of her. She huffs, sits down with a heavy breath onto the ground. "Enough for bathing. We should stick around here for a while."

Erik gives his most imperceptible of nods, although Meredy doesn't seem to notice. His axe drops with a thud onto the ground, the small stack of firewood next to his bare feet. "Maybe I'll make use of that," he says, just slightly out of breath.

A third person looking in would never be able to see the subtlest glance he gives at Jellal, but Jellal himself certainly sees it. Erik wipes his hands together, as if to clean them off, and sighs into the cooling air.

Jellal turns his eyes away, willing himself not to watch as the man excuses himself and steps into the woods. Meredy is saying something. He should be listening, but he isn't.

The footsteps are retreating into the east. He glances at Sorano dangling a bug over the sleeping Macbeth's face. He isn't sure what he was expecting.

"I think I'm going to go for a walk," his voice says without permission, and he thinks he must look as surprised as Meredy does when he says it.

"We've been walking all day," she counters, raising her eyebrows in confusion and concern.

"I know, I--" Jellal swallows. "I just want to clear my head. Maybe look for some fruit."

Meredy gives him a numb expression, but he accepts the quiet "ok," and gets up slowly. He dusts himself off, and starts walking south first.  
_____________

After a few minutes he cuts northeast, and he feels his chest tighten with every whisper and crack the forest gives as signs of life. It's not long before he starts to hear water. He follows it, heart speeding up in his chest; it almost stops when a force pushes him into a tree.

It's Erik, of course it is. He has Jellal backed into some old, gnarled ash. Jellal breathes heavy, willing his body to calm down as the panic hits fast, but he stills when he realizes Erik isn't even holding him tight enough to make it difficult for him to get away.

He quirks a brow, curious, and pushes back slightly, allowing himself a little space.

Erik gives a small smile. "Hey," he says quietly.

He smells like musk and sweat, chest slightly damp, pressed to Jellal's. Jellal feels morally opposed to liking it, but he finds he does anyway.

"Hey?" Jellal echoes. "Quite a way to greet a man."

"You keep following me, it might be the price," Erik says, a smirk growing on his lips. Jellal lies to himself and says he isn't watching them as they curl. "Besides," Erik says, head tilting. "You can leave when you like. You aren't above a bit of a skirmish. You could easily get past me."

Jellal breathes in deep, setting his jaw as he surrenders to looking Erik in the eye.

"But I'm guessing you don't feel like going anywhere, even if the introduction was a bit... Overdone. Surprising. Whatever."

Jellal lifts a brow again, trying to breathe through his nose. "What's it matter to you?"

Erik laughs. "Gods, you love playing games, don't you?" He must see the irritation that crosses Jellal's face then, because his own softens. "I don't mean to be rude. For once. I'm just playing along like I assumed you wanted." The haughty look in his eye is still there, but it's mellowed into something more forgiving, nonetheless.

Erik raises his hands, takes a careful step backward. "You can go if you want."

Jellal struggles to breathe. He doesn't move. He's bracing against the tree, like he's waiting.

Erik nods. He steps forward again, the liminal space that had existed between them gone again.

"Out of courtesy, which I know I'm not often the best at," Erik says, voice low. "Why don't you let me know what you want?"

It feels almost like a threat, and either way, Jellal finds he's grown tired of Erik's talking. The first clash of lips is more heated than the ones they've shared before, possessive and stirring up emotion like the wind does leaves. Jellal finds himself being shoved back into the tree, lifted off his feet as Erik hoists him up. Jellal lets himself be anchored, thighs to Erik's hips. He's surprised to find he doesn't mind the intimacy of their bodies quite so close. It just makes heat beat into his chest.

The only thing that seems to scare him in that moment is the fact that his mind is so, _utterly_ , blank. He doesn't have to think. And that experience is entirely new.

He doesn't know when his shirt got opened. He should probably care, right? But Erik is biting at his lips, and working his way to his neck, and Jellal is embarrassed to find he's grinding into Erik's body.

The body is much worse at forgetting what it wants than the mind, it seems.

There's a flow between them, somewhere lost in the friction, and Erik is speaking low in his ear, asking if he can touch him. The words might be just what make Jellal say yes.

Jellal doesn't think as the other man pulls the heavenly-body mage's cock out of his trousers. He doesn't think when Erik pulls out his own, only takes the quickest of moments to appreciate the rich brown skin that shifts into silky pink.

If thought existed at all before, he certainly ceases to think when Erik lines them up, and thrusts against him. Jellal's back digs into the knobbed tree, throbs with pain, and he only has a moment to be slightly horrified at how much he enjoys it.

Pleasure sparks hot up his spine, turning him into liquid, thighs squeezing hard against Erik's hip bones. It only spurs him on.

The space where Jellal's shirt is bridged open is slick with sweat; mostly with Erik's, he assumes, although he can't tell what part might be his own. He stops caring when Erik thrusts harder against him.

He's throbbing, and when Erik bites his neck, his head hits the bark of the tree, hard.

Erik is groaning, loud, and Jellal realizes the other man is coming, hardly notices in the haze of things. There's a growl in his ear as Erik stills, sucking in a breath. Quickly, a hand is worming in between them.

Erik grips at him, strokes him quickly, callouses turning the sensation so sharp Jellal thinks his eyes water. He rakes up bark underneath his nails, crying out quietly as he comes.

He doesn't know how long it takes him to come down. He's back on his own feet eventually, breathing hot next to Erik's ear, and now they both smell sharply of sweat. Erik backs up, sighing softly, and Jellal sees the spend covering his belly, and Jellal's own all over his hand. Jellal has been almost completely spared.

He feels himself laughing. Erik gives him a cross look.

Jellal shakes his head. "You'll really need that bath now, won't you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I shouldn't say comments "literally" keep me alive, especially as a writer, but can I say it anyway?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No more defiling trees but like
> 
> I realized they really just move onto other parts of nature to defile
> 
> What am I supposed to do like they're in the woods tho ahhh
> 
> Jellal is a tease with lots of feelings 
> 
> This one is more vulnerable and there's some almost soft happy boys 
> 
> The angst could come back at any moment, my brain's unpredictable, so I'd enjoy it while you can lmao

Jellal has been back at camp for quite a while, a fire now crackling under a skinned rabbit, when Erik trudges back in. Only Jellal and Meredy seem to look up at his presence; he's still shirtless, but the sheen of sweat is replaced with small droplets of water. 

"Water was warm," he says, folding his arms, and even Macbeth perks up at that. 

"I thought maybe I was just imagining it," Meredy exclaims, eyes going wide. "You know I think there might be a hot spring up there." She points to a small mountain to the Northeast. "It might be the runoff."

Erik shrugs. "Makes sense. We picked a good spot, I guess." His gaze flicks to Jellal, and Jellal is surprised when he doesn't find himself looking away. "Rabbit, guys? Really?"

Sawyer frowns. "Richard started crying when I snapped its neck. Don't get on me for it being the best we could do."

"I just wish we didn't have to be so cruel," Richard interjects, and anger flashes bright on Sawyer's face. 

"For fuck's sake, Richard, we've been over this several times, it's the most humane way to kill an animal!"

Macbeth is laughing. Sorano looks at the cooking meat with distaste. 

"I have to say, the idea of eating a bunny isn't exactly appealing," Meredy admits. "But it's protein."

Erik opens his mouth, eyebrows raised high, then shuts it just as quickly. He's lectured too many times on the low nutritional value of rabbit meat; it's been a notable point of tension. He shakes his head. 

Jellal, as amusing as he might find the current squabbling of his guild mates, stands. He stretches slightly. "I'm gonna get some air, I think. My back is killing me."

He glances at Erik at that, and the glare he gets is rather mutinous. 

Meredy looks concerned, as responsive as ever, but Jellal turns and begins to walk away from the group anyway. A hand grabs his forearm and stops him.

He looks up at Erik, slightly bemused. Meredy stands, worry morphing into astonishment on her face, but Jellal doesn't say anything as he shakes Erik off. 

"Maybe somebody should come with you if you're gonna be wandering off into the woods at night," Erik says quietly. His eye looks glassy in the low light. Jellal isn't sure anybody else even hears the low rumble of his voice. 

"Thanks," Jellal says, much louder than Erik spoke to him. He's almost projecting. "But that water must have been hot." He suppresses a curl of his lips, looking Erik up and down. "You should stay here and; cool down for a bit." Something moves thick in him with the shocked glare Erik gives him, and he adds, much more softly, "Wouldn't want you to overdo it."

Nobody says anything as he walks away.  
___________

Erik keeps eyeing him in the days ahead, but doesn't say anything. Jellal surrenders to the satisfaction curling up inside him; he watches Erik watching him, is a little less careful about not letting his shirt ride up when it stretches, is a little more graceful and slow when bending over. Erik knows he's being a tease, he's sure of it. 

So Erik seems to stop wearing shirts all together. It's easy to excuse under the hot sun. Jellal finds the move bold, but just bold enough. The physical tension seems to lead Erik to chopping an absolutely obscene amount of firewood; and Jellal knows he's not doing it to get his own attention, because he does it even when Jellal's not around. 

It seems, rather, that the frustration is so intense that Erik is very much relishing the feeling of an axe in his hands. 

"Erik, really, I think we have enough now," Meredy says after three days of this. 

Erik grunts, swinging the axe down again. "Never bad to stock up."

Meredy goes slightly pink in the face, at this. "The pile is almost up to your chest! I think you have more than enough wood!"

Jellal is lounging quietly on a rock a few meters away, and mumbles quietly, "quite true."

Meredy's head whips around at him. "What?" she asks, looking entirely confused. She likely honestly didn't hear him. 

But. It's impossible _Erik_ didn't, isn't it?

The man drops the axe, making a sour face at Jellal as he turns towards him slightly. Jellal hasn't had this much fun in ages. He can't remember the last time he really had fun at all, honestly. 

Meredy stares at the both of them, eyebrows knitting. "I'm gonna go get water. Please don't kill each other while I'm gone." Shaking her head, she turns to walk away. 

Her footsteps retreat and Jellal shrugs, not breaking eye contact with Erik. The man gives a low growl of discontent, but moves to sit down on the ground in front of Jellal anyways. 

"You sure seem to be having a good time," Erik says quietly, face slightly shadowed by the sun above his head. 

"Just a little," Jellal admits, and it's softer than he meant it to be. 

Erik nods, biting his lip in what seems to be frustration, but he says, "Only fair, I guess. Not much fun to be had out here."

Jellal blinks, body feeling slow and soft and unsure. "Yeah," he says croakily, and the grass seems to vibrate under his fingers. He looks up, Erik's eye looking molten in the sun. Jellal clears his throat, settling back against his rock. It presses into bruises and he feels the blood running into his legs. 

"I think I'll probably bathe later," he says, almost nonchalant. The vulnerability is still experimental. "See if the water is really that warm."

Erik looks at him for a moment; gives a quiet nod. The sun shines. Jellal looks at him like he's a hallucination that might disappear the moment he looks away.  
___________

Most of the guild likes to nap in the afternoon, which is exactly why Jellal has chosen this time to go out to the stream. The water moves slowly, slightly gray, and Jellal eyes it curiously as he hears footsteps behind him. 

The bravest thing he can do is not look back. 

He sheds his shirt, buttons undone, skin itching as it stretches taught when he moves. He breathes softly, listens to the footsteps stop behind him. It's easy to close his eyes as he shucks off his trousers, underwear; he's quickly very naked in the soft summer breeze. He breathes in slow, feeling small, and a large, warm, calloused hand settles on his back. 

"You weren't kidding about your back," Erik says, fingers tracing delicately over Jellal's spine. Jellal knows he's bruised. He can't see them, but he figures they're probably that mottled green and brown and yellow by now. "Does it hurt?" Erik asks.

"Only a bit," Jellal says. He finally turns to look Erik in the eye. "It's a good kinda pain, though. I've had enough of the bad kind for a lifetime."

Erik nods, his expression surprisingly soft. He shifts slowly to unbuckle his trousers, and Jellal watches his hands, curious. He feels brave enough to think, outright to himself, that he wants those hands on him. It's still an overwhelming thing, but he reminds himself they're warm and inviting and there's no reason not to want them, right? They're just hands.

Attached to a man. 

A man who steps out of his trousers, and Jellal looks forward again, stepping towards the water with a swallow. He thinks silently to himself it's nice he's not the only one covered in the white mesh of scars; over almost every body part. He hasn't stopped to admire that. He puts it away for later. 

A foot dips into the water, and it's true, it is warm. The kind of warm that's just hotter than tepid, the kind of warm that tea gets when you forget to drink after a few minutes. He wades in.

He ends up in the deepest trough with the water just up to his chest, and he turns to see Erik sitting on the embankment. In the sun, he's a sight to behold; pink-gold scars on dark bronze, legs parted, his elbow supported on one knee, his soft cock resting on his opposite thigh. 

"Aren't you getting in?" Jellal asks. 

Erik shrugs, but he stands slowly, like there's a lethargy to this whole thing. "Just waiting for you, I guess," he admits, and begins to wade in. 

Jellal watches silently as Erik's body disappears into the slightly-murky water; the warmth lulls him into relaxation, and Erik is moving in close, just a few inches away. Erik hums in the back of his throat, and Jellal blinks. He licks his lips, blows out a breath softly. 

There's a hand running softly on his arm, and he thinks he's stopped breathing as he presses their lips together softly. Erik's forehead is pushing into his, and his chest hurts, so he kisses at the man's neck. 

"Can I touch you?" he asks softly. Erik doesn't seem to be expecting it; he stills. 

A beat, and he replies, voice too low and raw to be unaffected, "If you want to."

Jellal nods, and his hand hovers at Erik's hip, trying to be soft, trying it's damnedest at softness, something Jellal has never been, never had, not since a very long time. 

He holds Erik's neck, his skin addictively warm, and it presses their bodies closer. Jellal reaches lower, closing his hand around the still mostly soft cock of the man before him, and Erik presses his closed mouth into Jellal's forehead. It feels like a kiss but it isn't, so Jellal decides not to worry about it. 

Jellal thanks the warm water for blood flow, and Erik lets his hands roam as Jellal strokes him to hardness; not an entirely difficult task. One arm is hooked around Jellal's back; the other has a hand resting on his lower back, just above his ass. 

"Your skin is nice," Erik says lowly, eyelashes fluttering when Jellal touches him just so. He's more than hard in his hand now, and Jellal swipes his lips along the man's collarbone with some primal urge he can't explain. Time passes slowly, sunlight filtering in from the overhanging trees, a few fallen seed pods swirling up around their bodies. 

When Erik is breathing hard, Jellal presses in as close as he can, not sure what he's looking for. He just knows that the feeling of skin-on-skin is determinedly quite, quite good, and everything is warm but Erik's warmer. 

Erik says Jellal's name rough, like it's being pulled straight out of his throat, and thick fingernails dig into Jellal's hip. He watches the man come in the water, barely any room between them, and it passes in several stunted, shaking breaths against Jellal's neck. 

When Jellal opens his eyes after a moment, Erik is staring at him with curiosity. He wants to hide under the gaze, but it doesn't matter when Erik pulls him in close to give him an open-mouthed kiss. Jellal feels so lightheaded he think he might fall over if he misses his footing on the gravelly sediment of the stream. 

"Let's get out," Erik says quietly, and something does an odd dip in Jellal's chest, until Erik adds, "I wanna see all of you when I touch you."  
________

They're lounging some hours later as Sawyer is plucking feathers from a rather large, wild bird he killed. Erik is napping under the late afternoon sky, and Meredy sighs softly as she takes a seat next to Jellal. 

"Seems he's relaxed some," she says, tossing her head at the now abandoned massive pile of firewood. "I thought he was gonna chop down the whole forest." She shakes her head. "Whatever he worked out, I guess it's good."

Jellal swallows, nodding with a wry smile, and if he closes his eyes, he can still feel the gravel under his feet, the water wrapping around his sides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're ever sexually frustrated just aggressively chop firewood. 
> 
> Comments keep me alive tbh <3
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's still keeping up with my weird ass writing btw


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .... it's angsty brah. Sorry. 
> 
> Warnings for nightmares, some pretty explicit violence and some mentions, although brief, of blood in this chapter. 
> 
> But technically you get some hurt and comfort. Except it's the jerik version so it's like... a lot of hurt and then comfort that doesn't necessarily seem like comfort but it is comfort and they're both just very emotionally constipated and vulnerable. Or something.

_He doesn't remember how it started; there's laughter, fresh like a peeled orange, and then a rush of staticky panic cutting through him, and the next thing he knows, Erza's on the ground._

_The guard is angry. That's all Jellal can think:_ angry, angry, angry _. And a second later, his body kicking in:_ run _._

_But he's frozen._

_Erza screams when she's kicked in the gut, her little limbs squirming, and the guard laughs. He laughs. Says something foul Jell_ al _can't hear or can't remember._

Get out get out get out, _his brain shouts, but he doesn't know how to listen. He wants to cry and scream and do something but he feels so overwhelmingly small and stupid. There are tears streaming down Ezra's face, and she's fighting to look at him. There's a bruise, purple and obscene_ to _the point of being sickening, blossoming where the guard grabbed her wrist earlier._

_He kicks her again. She's crying hard now, and blood colors her teeth, frothing pink with her screams. Jellal feels like he might be sick; it's not that unusual to see violence here, but this; this makes his knees tremble and his stomach recoil and gurgle with pain and disgust._

_Then Ezra's face is murky; like it's shifting, and all the features blend together until she's too many people, hundreds, and some he recognizes and some he doesn't. Shade after shade of hair and skin flexes in his vision but the mouth is still screaming "help."_

_Tears start to cloud his vision and he ricochets in pain; his abdomen spasms and he's the one screaming, he's the one getting kicked, the taste of copper overflowing in his mouth._ No, no, no, _he repeats, meaning to say something else, like, "I'm sorry," or "don't," or "please."_

 _He can't breathe. He's gasping, he can't breathe now, eyes watering and he's choking on the foamy blood in his mouth. His scream is so gargled it's hard to understand, and he can only cry, because the next delivery of a foot to his stomach tells him what he already knows: he fucking deserves this._  
________________

He's panting loudly into the still night when he wakes. The world spins around him and all he can do is breathe, and it's the only thing in his ears, that struggling, desperate sound as he tries to realign himself.

He doesn't remember sitting up, but he is. His mouth tastes like metal; he realizes he's bit his cheek, and hard, in his sleep. Trying desperately to ease his breathing, to be quiet, he swallows, spit thick in his throat. His limbs are shaking with a terrifying intensity, but he just closes his eyes, sucking in air through his nose.

"Hey," a voice says behind him, and his body jumps so hard he almost hurts himself. "It's just me," Erik is saying, and Jellal knows his eyes must be wide as saucers in the dark, a shaking mess quaking in the low light of the stars, but he tries to put that out of his mind.

Jellal tries to mumble something, but it doesn't come out as much. Erik is bending down in the dark; he's laying out his bed mat, Jellal realizes. The scent of dewy grass is thick in his nose, and Jellal remembers the others, and looks desperately in the dark for where they're sleeping.

"It's okay," Erik says, softly. "Nobody else woke up. Just me, 'cause I could hear you."

Jellal nods, breathing out shakily through his nose. His eyes are burning, and he wipes at the tears, willing them not to fall. His limbs tingle with the remnants of adrenaline, and his breathing is finally slowing down. He wants to sob. But crying hasn't been an option for years. Crying means pain, and he knows that. Crying means punishment. He's not that stupid.

"Is there anything I can do?" Erik whispers, and Jellal's chest gives a heavy ache. He shakes his head. He's just barely starting to know where he is, honestly. "A bad one?" Erik asks.

An awkward twist of Jellal's lips, like a sick smile, and Erik seems to understand.

"Okay," Erik says, and something about how soft, how open it is, makes Jellal want to cry all over again. He stamps that down, bringing his body slowly back to lay down on his blankets.

Erik follows him, like he wants desperately to stay on the same plane, the same level as Jellal, and Jellal blinks softly in the dark as his eyes adjust, noticing concern in the moon-lit gleam of Erik's eye.

"I was wondering if I could sleep next to you," Erik said. "For right now, if it would help."

Jellal swallows, the world is a little more still now, but even that stillness scares him. The panic is receding from his chest and yet his hands still shake. "Maybe," he murmurs, and it's a terrible, croaking sound. He imagines Erik wincing at how pathetic it sounds crawling up out of his throat, but the man just looks at him.

"Okay," he says. "I can--" he pauses; bites his lip ever-so-slightly. "I'll get up early. Nobody'll see or anything."

Jellal nods. His eyes ache; his body aches. It's a terrible feeling.

Erik rests but a foot away from him, bedding pressed up to his. The man turns his head away slightly, as if to give the other some odd, imagined sense of privacy. Jellal bows his body, curling in on himself, and closes his eyes. He stays like that, quiet and awake, for some time, mind blank but hurting all the same. Eventually, it fades away, and not even he can evade the soft touch of sleep once more.   
_____________

He wakes just before dawn; his body is cramped and aching, but he's surprisingly warm given the soft blue-gray light starting to lift with the stars. A deep sigh, and he feels the heavy arm lobbed over his body; neither graceful nor well-placed, but a comfort all the same. His back and legs are warm with the soft touches of another body close but not pressing in. There's a loud snore in his right ear.

He suppresses a small, small laugh, and sighs softly. He won't say anything, he decides, and settles into the warmth again, closing his eyes. Maybe, for once, there isn't anything that needs to be said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's just so many ways to show affection and I'm grappling with the nuances bc shits weird when ur brain's fucked you know and sometimes you show love differently
> 
> Y'all know how I love comments :')
> 
> Can you tell I always answer them right before I update? Because that's exactly what I do. If I answer your comment there's probably a chapter coming in like fifteen min XD


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's late, so a quick summary:
> 
> Jellal feels jealous of a dead fish, and then blowies. 
> 
> Obviosuly, explicit.

Meredy's been too soft to him lately.

It scares some latent, tired part of him; and simply makes the rest of him feel wary.

She keeps her voice down, watches his movements, studies him with a frown when she thinks he doesn't notice. Jellal's not sure what she's thinking. The attention alone, however, is still off-putting.

"I just feel like we haven't talked in a while," she's saying, sitting down next to him by the fire. He cocks his head, gives a noncommittal shrug. He can see her grimace.

"Yeah. I guess. Just been in my own head a lot."

She nods, glancing at Jellal softly. "I see. I just; hope, not in a bad way."

Jellal swallows, looking into the fire. "Not really bad," he says softly. "Just stuff, you know?"

He can't see her face like this, but there's too much softness when she asks, "How have the dreams been?"

Jellal breathes slowly, efficiently trying to keep the anxious whirl of his insides calm, like always. "It's been up and down," he admits. He doesn't look to check the worry she wears on her face. "Been better the last few nights," he adds, whispering it like a secret. He won't admit why, however. That's his and his alone.

"That's good," she says quietly, and seems content to leave it at that; for now.

Jellal looks up to see Erik looking at him from across the fire. The man's face is painted with something he can't understand; something like concern but too hard around the mouth; something earnest. Jellal looks down, pretending not to see, like he usually does; although he's had to start admitting to himself, lately, that Erik still knows he's looked.

_____________

It's been more than a week since they touched each other, and Jellal's thought he's been pretty okay with that. Well; touched each other sexually, that is. Erik's sleeping mat drifts closer and closer to his most nights. They don't talk about it; Erik is usually up before dawn. It's odd to Jellal that the fact he's had Erik's arm around his waist feels so much more clandestine than the fact he's held the other man's cock in his hand.

But nobody ever said his values were well-adjusted, did they?

They've found a new camping spot, a few days further north. It's a bit cooler in the evenings here, pleasant and invigorating in a way that reminds Jellal of autumn, even though it's months away.

Jellal is manning guard duty while the others are looking for food or off doing other various tasks when Erik comes back to camp with a small tub of fish he's caught from a nearby stream. Jellal watches quietly as the man settles down on the rocky, grassy slope, a few feet away, and pulls out his knife.

"Pinkie says we're only about a day's journey from a town," Erik says quietly, a fish now in his hand. He runs his blade carefully along the skin, against the grain; Jellal listens to the shuck of scales flying away in all directions.

He nods, remembering to respond, but his eyes are stuck on the silver, iridescent flesh in Erik's hand. Jellal tucks the morbid curiosity away, righting himself slightly.

"Always good to stock up on supplies," he says, now not knowing where to look. Erik's face is more of a challenge than the damned fish.

Erik hums, busy with his work, turning the dead thing over in his hands. He wipes his blade on his pants, scales and moisture swiping onto the cotton.

"I was thinking of taking a walk tonight," he says, and Jellal looks up, surprised. "Out in the moonlight." He sneaks a glance at Jellal's face, looking innocent. He raises his brows. "I think it'll be nice; it'll be a shame to be alone."

Jellal swallows, insides feeling thick and immobile, and finds himself nodding. He watches as Erik's knife starts to cut into red flesh, the color vibrant in his tan, calloused hands.

Jellal, utterly and overwhelmingly aware of how ridiculous it is, finds himself jealous of the tenderness with which Erik takes apart the dead thing.

_____________

Erik sneaks off that night, claiming he's going to go nap up in a tree; in itself not at all a rare occurrence; while Macbeth complains about bones in his fish.

"I think it might just be _your_ fish," Sorano says quietly. "Mine doesn't have any."

Jellal hears a quiet "Gods fucking damnit," in response, and tries to suppress the small smile that fights at his lips. He waits a good twenty minutes before saying anything, then mentions; casually, he hopes; what a nice night it is. So nice he might go for a walk on his own to clear his head.

He's standing, stomach full as Sorano murmurs, "he's so fucking mopey," only to be promptly elbowed in the ribs by Meredy, who sits to her left. He looks to the pink-haired girl's face, which is pulled into a fake smile, as if it's supposed to be a comfort. The worry is still there around her eyes.

He gives a curt nod, and walks away into the trees.   
____________

He walks a different direction than he knows Erik went; when he's deep enough in, he changes his path to where he thinks the man will actually be, and continues on. Jellal ends up not far from camp at all; he listens as a voice calls softly for him, and follows it into a small clearing.

Erik is sitting next to a sloped rock, the moon bright in the sky, shining on his back.

"Hey," Jellal says quietly, moving closer. Erik doesn't get up, so he blinks, shakes his head, and moves to sit down himself.

"Wasn't sure if you were coming," Erik admits, shrugging. He's like a shadow, outlines smoothed and softened in the dark.

Jellal scoots closer on the grass, body hesitant and confused; every time they've touched each other, it's always escalated so quickly, and sitting quietly on the mossy forest floor wasn't exactly what he was expecting.

"Sorry," Erik says, seeming to notice Jellal's agitation. "It just really is a nice night, and jumping you in the dark didn't seem like a good idea."

Jellal can't argue with that. He moves closer again, feeling a bit cold, and Erik seems to give off his own warmth, like an energy echoing out from his skin. He wants to ask a lot a questions, but holds his tongue on all of them.

"I wanted to do something for you tonight," Erik says, and Jellal doesn't have to ask any of those questions now, anyways. "Not like; not like in a gross sweet way or shit. Just 'cause I feel like it and you could use it. You're too fucking tense all the time."

Jellal is raising his eyebrows. He really doesn't have a response, and the confusion on his face seems to irritate Erik.

"Just," Erik exclaims softly, lips going thin in annoyance. He moves forward, and kisses Jellal; not chaste and not passionate either. It's something possibly in between, or maybe just all its own. Jellal breathes shakily into the other man's mouth as he finishes, "come 'ere."

It's spoken against Jellal's lips, soft but sure, curiously confident, and it might be the reason Jellal pours his body right into Erik's without much more hesitation. Erik's hands are warm and strong on his hip, his neck, lips twisting against his, and Jellal thinks it feels like some pressure he hasn't noticed building in his chest finally begins to deflate.

His scalp sings in interest when a hand tangles in his hair, and he's panting into the quiet night, Erik's mouth still only an inch from his, like some magnetism won't let them pull any farther apart.

"I need to ask you," Erik says, and he's out of breath too, his body so intoxicatingly warm against Jellal's. "If you trust me with touching you. Know I'll listen. Know I won't do anything you don't like, all that shit, you know?"

Jellal doesn't trust many people with many things, but there's something curling in his gut and he knows it means "yes." It's a terribly foreign feeling. He nods, feeling like his throat wouldn't work if he tried to speak.

Erik kisses with a soft bite into his neck in response, and whispers, "I need you to lay back, then."

Fear stirs in Jellal's chest, but he pushes it back. It's not what he wants to feel right now. He wants to be feeling many, many things right now, and there's no room for his usual mistrust.

He swallows, shifts, and Erik helps him slope his back against the slanted rock behind them. Jellal breathes; Erik's body a warm, heavy weight over his; and grounds himself in the feeling.

"I'm gonna suck you off," Erik admits, and it's like his eye glows in the low light. "You okay with that?"

Jellal doesn't know what to say, for the umpteenth time that night. His hand is on Erik's face, thumbing at the beginning of his scar. "Only if you make it good," he manages to croak out, and Erik grins.

Erik bites softly at his neck, hands still warm and overwhelming, and Jellal is grateful for the small, grounding touches as he hears his belt buckle being undone. The hand slips down first, friction of callouses coaxing him out of softness.

"Been thinkin' about this a lot," Erik's saying, mumbled against Jellal's lips. Friction and warmth and he thinks, most of all, the opaque musk of sandalwood in Erik's skin, bring him to hardness, and he's looking at the almost full moon like it has answers for what he's feeling.

It doesn't, but it feels like maybe the rub of Erik's stubbled jaw on his neck does, sensitive skin tingling.   
Cool air hits his cock as Erik pulls it fully out of his trousers, and Jellal instantly misses the press of their bodies together as Erik moves down his body.

He's given slow circles rubbed into his clothed hip as compensation, warm and soothing, and Erik breathes a hot breath against him. Jellal's nerves jump, and Erik presses his open mouth against the base, like a tease but softer and sharper all at once.

He's not at all prepared for when Erik begins to tongue at the head, still gentle but achingly precise, and when Erik's mouth closes around him, a groan so strained and cracking breaks from Jellal's throats that he feels almost mortified.

Erik only looks up at him. Jellal can hear the others laughing, loud, back at camp, 300 meters away at most, and he clamps his mouth shut with a hand over his lips. Erik pulls up slightly, eyebrows knitting.

He pulls Jellal's hand from his mouth and says, "Make noise, it's alright. I wanna hear it."

It's an understatement to say none of it feels real.

Jellal feels like he might be shaking and doesn't know whether to nod or disagree, but Erik is taking him into his mouth again, mouth hot and tongue going pointedly precise, and Jellal wants to drown in the warmth forever.

What a weak soul he has, he thinks, but he honestly can't care as he pants into the night, Erik sucking at him. Jellal brings a shaking hand to tease at the wisps of Erik's hair. He can't bring himself to grip at the man's head, and so he's caught shaking and wanting as Erik swallows around him. Jellal's head knocks back into the rock he rests on, and he thinks idly that'll hurt later, probably.

He cries out, and loud, into the night and meets the little death while looking up, wide-eyed, at the stars. The tail of a scorpion stares silently back at him.

___________

He finds himself apologizing quickly, as soon as he's back in his own body, it feels like; for not warning Erik about; err. The man doesn't seem to mind, though.

He just gives a shrug and moves to lie next to Jellal on the rock. His pant legs, especially around his knees and thighs, are obscenely grass-stained. Jellal almost wants to laugh.

They're quiet for a long time.

Jellal wants to say thank you, but figures it probably isn't appropriate.

"Are the dreams better when we're sleeping next to each other?" Erik asks suddenly, breaking the silence.

Jellal blinks in surprise, but nods. "Yeah, actually. They are."

"That's good," Erik says, and turns to look into the trees, as if he's absolutely satisfied with no longer pursuing the subject.

Jellal knits his eyebrows. "Don't you ever get them?" he asks, suddenly curious. "I mean; with--"

Erik waves his hand. "It's fine. Yeah, I mean, definitely, but not all the time, you know?" He shrugs. "And I don't need to sleep as often, so. It doesn't come up much."

"Oh," Jellal says. "That's... good. That's good."

They're quiet for another moment, a question burning on Jellal's tongue. He swallows.

"Are you... happy out here with us?"

Erik looks at him, curiosity in his eye.

"I am, actually." He gives a small chuckle. "I was being manipulated by various people non-stop until we joined. My whole life. Never allowed to think for myself." He stares into the dark, picking at the grass. "Fucks you up," he adds quietly.

Jellal's chest hurts at this and he turns his head away, but Erik is speaking again.

"You're wrong," he says, voice confident. "That you've felt like you've been manipulative. To me." Jellal looks back at him, surprised, and Erik gives him a grin. "How can you be manipulative if you never know what the fuck you're doing?"

Jellal actually laughs at that. He can't argue. He watches the moon frame Erik's face with soft light as the minutes pass.

"It's been a while," Jellal says quietly. "They'll notice."

Erik cocks his head, looks at him with a soft gaze. "You're right. They might."

Neither of them moves.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tag urself I'm the dead fish and Erik's petty ass not cutting the bones out of Macbeth's food just for kicks


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long! I promise I'm alive. I already have plans for the next chapter, so hopefully that won't take too long either.

They're all quite ecstatic about getting to go into town. It's been quite a while since they were anywhere near civilization; it's necessary that they lie low, but they allow themselves, every so often, to indulge just a bit.

The town luckily has a market, thrumming with energy under the warming summer sun. Sawyer and Richard have gone off the find the salted meats and dried foods that will last them all a while kept in their packs as they travel. Sorano has dragged Macbeth off somewhere; Jellal doesn't know where, but he checked to make sure they hadn't taken more coin than they'd been allotted.

He and Meredy stop to get a few supplies, Erik behind him, until they find the man has wondered off. Jellal shrugs it off; he doesn't much care as long as Erik doesn't start shit and get them all in trouble. Meredy is slightly more worried.

"He's not exactly an agreeable person," she comments. Jellal can't deny this, but he knows Erik can also take care of himself.

"It'll be fine," he says, trying to mollify her. "We'll keep an eye out, ask around a little bit. He'll probably be waiting for us at the rendezvous point."

Meredy nods, eyes still anxious, but they continue on through the market.

They pass stall after stall, meats and clothing and wine and everything you could possibly think of, all set up in rickety wooden squares manned by the townspeople sweating in the heat.   
Meredy stops suddenly, eyeing a clothing stall. She gravitates toward it slightly, and Jellal looks over to see what she's eyeing.

On display in the stall, manned by a tall, wiry middle-aged woman, is a lavender silk dress covered in elaborate beading. Meredy's eyes hover over the sight, looking wistful, and Jellal swallows. He knows they both know they don't possibly have enough coin for something like that, and not much of a use for such a thing either.

Still, he files the dress away in his mind, thinking that when it's next at all possible, he should buy something Meredy could have to replicate luxury. She deserves that much for putting up with all of them.

The woman seems to return to reality, shaking her head. She gives a sigh, a sad smile. "Sorry. It's quite pretty."

She doesn't give time for Jellal to adjust as she keeps moving forward, apparently determined to leave the momentary distraction behind. Jellal dutifully follows.

______________

When they've almost reached the end of the dusty market, Meredy stops, putting her hands on her hips. "Okay. Since we haven't seen him anywhere, I'll go back to the rendezvous point and check for him. You could stay here, ask around?"

She looks up at Jellal expectantly, and while Erik is probably fine, it isn't so ridiculous a request.

"Okay," he agrees. "If I don't find him out here, I'll start heading back in ten?"

Meredy nods, seemingly satisfied, and gives him a small "see you soon," before walking back the way they came.

Jellal watches her go for a moment, then moves to walking around the stalls to ask if they've seen a strange-looking man with pointed ears and a scar over his eye. He doesn't turn up much. He's about to retire from his task, hitting the last few stalls on the stretch of the street, when he walks up to small stall, squeezed in between two others, run by a small old woman.

"Excuse me," Jellal starts. "Have you seen a man w--"

He stops, noticing the items on display in her stall. Figurines featuring... _overwhelmingly_ nude figures caught in the middle of erotic acts, statuettes of female bodies, big hipped and full-breasted, charms and bottles, books with intimidatingly inappropriate situations drawn on the covers.

He finds himself stammering, confused as he tries to remember what he had been trying to say.

"Can I help you, sweetie?" The woman crows, voice sweet but graveled with age.

"I," Jellal starts. "I was just looking for a friend of mine, but--"

"Looking for a friend?" she asks, and gestures to her merchandise.

"No, not--" Jellal can't bring himself to stop stammering. "I lost them earlier in the crowd, was trying to track them down, I mean."

"Oh." The woman's face goes a bit downcast. "I'm sorry, that's unfortunate. Perhaps you should wait for them somewhere. Did you want to stop and look for a moment?"

Jellal's chest gives a squeeze. He feels light-headed with anxiety at the thought of being rude to this polite old woman. "Well, I--" he tries, but doesn't get very far.

"All the potions are on sale, you know," she starts, slipping into business-mode. "Increase arousal and orgasm." She gestures to a row of small red bottles capped with cork. "Very popular with couples who want to spice things up."

Jellal coughs. "That's not really--"

"Or perhaps you'd like a book instead?" she's the picture of innocence, small pink lips pursed. "There's stories, but we have books of positions to heighten sexual enlightenment as well."

Jellal feels his face going red, and he can't seem to get a proper word out of his mouth.

"Oh, dear, don't be embarrassed," the woman says, eyes opening in empathy. "We also carry toys, if you're looking for something more serious. I just don't usually keep them on display to be polite."

Jellal blinks rapidly, embarrassment consuming his throat. He looks around rather rapidly; for an escape, excuse, anything. His eyes land on the most innocent-looking thing he can find spread across with the merchandise, and points at it.

"What's this?" he asks, a little too loudly. It's a mercy his voice doesn't crack.

The woman gives him a knowing smile, but indulges him anyways. "This is an enchanted coin," she says. It's pretty, gold and engraved, strung on a red string. "It's a bit more simple than my other items, but still quite powerful."

"What- what does it do?" Jellal asks. This turn of conversation, he thinks, maybe he'll be able to handle.

The woman smiles. "It opens one to the emotional aspect of a sexual experience. Most of my items enhance the physical, but this; this opens the mind." She picks it up, fingers delicate. "Simply touch it to both you and your partner's skin before an encounter; I like to suggest touching it to your lips; and it increases the natural psychic link shared between the bodies, and opens the third eye to powerful transformation."

"That's." Jellal doesn't know what to say. "That sounds quite complicated."

The woman waves her hand, laughing. "It's not too much, trust me. In reality just makes things a little more intense. It's a temporary enchantment, too; the coin is charged with magic, but it's drained after one use." She looks at him curiously. "Are you interested in it?"

Jellal opens his mouth, and closes it just as quickly. "I don't have very much coin," he tries.

Her face goes soft. She takes his hand, placing the coin in it softly. "You seem like a nice young man. I don't normally sell these for much anyway; you take it, free of charge."

Jellal blinks, unsure how to respond. "I couldn't possibly--"

"I insist," the woman smiles. "The summer solstice is only a few days away; it's a wonderful time for spiritual sexual awakening."

She closes Jellal's palm around the coin, and he feels something in him give. He gives a quiet exhale. "Ah-- okay. I suppose."

The woman gives a gleeful smile. "Your partner will thank you." Jellal doesn't know what to say to that, but she's quickly adding, "Ah, I suppose your friend is probably waiting for you somewhere."

Jellal swallows, nodding. "Yes, probably." He pockets the coin, the metal warm in his palm. "Thank you," he says, giving a small bow.

"Come back any time!" the woman says, giving him a wave. "It was a pleasure."

____________

He makes it back to the rendezvous point about ten minutes later, the walk having allowed his flustered state to calm. He sees the rest of his guild; Erik included; waiting for him.

"What took you so long?" Meredy asks. Concern knits itself between her eyebrows.

"Ah," Jellal says. "Vendors. You know how aggressive they are."

They all seem to accept this answer without much question. They start to talk of where they will be traveling next, and Jellal touches the coin in his pocket, heavy and warm. He swallows when he catches Erik's eye wandering over his flushed face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Jellal, lmao. Hmm... I wonder what Erik bought while he was off by himself. We'll have to see. The next chapter is going to have a lot going on... you could say it's going to be rather... "in tents."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... they bone
> 
> Lucky you lmao

It's important that their Guild keeps a low profile, and in less than a day they're moving on to a more remote part of Fiore. Still, Jellal can tell everyone feels replenished; more supplies means less work hunting and cooking on their own, bigger rations, and an easier time in general.

He and Erik don't talk much over the next week, although they still interact; they're all a bit busy preparing for the summer rains. Polishing wax into the tent hides, finding the right camping spot, stocking up on food and water and firewood; finding a place to keep that firewood dry; it all takes a good portion of their days.

The heat is boiling as the rains approach, and when Jellal and Erik manage to find a moment alone, they get off under a shaded tree together. Jellal feels the weight of the coin burn in his pocket; he doesn't say anything. He sleeps well with Erik next to him. He has another dream about Ultear; but it's blurry, and a flash in his mind; all he can remember is her handing him a fig, a smile bright on her face.

After several anxious days, the sun finally sets in a blood-red sky, and Jellal feels the energy shift in all of his Guild-mates. Still, they quickly transition into talks of who's sleeping where, as they're ought to do, and this time Macbeth wins out on having the singular tent, even though he'll be sleeping next to the firewood. That might have been why it was so easy to argue for it.

"I can share with Jellal," Erik says, and he pairs it with a perfectly-timed shrug. "Wasn't that annoying last time."

Nobody really seems to care at the comment; Sorano is content sleeping next to Meredy, and again Sawyer has few complaints about Richard. Just like that, it's settled.

____________

Jellal and Erik settle into their tent later that night; it feels strangely intimate, but Jellal tries to brush it off. They've slept next to each other plenty of times before, after all. Why should this be any different?

"It surprises me Sorano isn't ever more annoyed sleeping next to Meredy," Jellal comments as he lays out his bed mat. "She just doesn't really seem to like _anyone_ , so."

Erik gives him a strange look at this, part confused and part disbelieving, then seems to shake it off. "Dunno," he grunts, and takes off his boots.

Jellal raises his brows, but thinks better of saying anything. He feels as if he wants to busy his hands, awkward and confused. He clears his throat, smoothing out his blankets more than is at all necessary, when Erik speaks up behind him.

"Hey," he says, a bit soft, and Jellal turns his head to see Erik's hand stretched out towards him, as if he had reached for Jellal and realized in the last second that it probably wasn't a good idea to touch him without warning. Jellal feels a pang in his chest, and Erik puts his hand down.

"What is it?" Jellal asks. Erik swallows visibly, and puts both hands on his thighs. Jellal hasn't seen this body language from him before.

"When we were in the market, I picked up a couple things," he starts, voice a bit gravelly, and Jellal wonders if it can actually be from nervousness. "In case... in case we wanted to try, uh. Something new."

"Something new?" Jellal asks, finally turning around to face Erik fully in the small space.

"Yeah, uh--" Erik clears his throat. "Something we... haven't _done_ before."

Jellal realizes what he means after a moment. "Oh."

"I just thought we might, you know," Erik tries to explain-- "We don't have to, or do anything you don't want, of course, but, you know." Jellal thinks there could be a blush on Erik's face if it weren't for his darker skin.

Jellal swallows. "No, I--" he takes a breath. "I... think that might be nice. If we did that."

Erik looks up at that; Jellal can see some of the stress shed right off his shoulders. "That's... good. I think it'd be good. Would you want to-- err, would I--"

Jellal raises his brows, trying to keep the train of the broken, awkward conversation. "Have you ever...?" He makes a motion with his hand, and Erik seems to get what he means after a moment.

"No, I haven't," Erik answers, lowering his eyes a bit. "I've done... the other part, but not... You know."

"Okay," Jellal breathes. "I can do it, then. It'll be better since I've done it before."

"You're okay with that?" Erik asks, and Jellal is still so unused to seeing that earnest sincerity in his gaze.

"Yeah, definitely," Jellal answers quickly. "I assume you got everything that would be... needed, after all?"

"Yeah," Erik says, giving a small laugh. "I'm experienced enough for that, don't worry."

He looks handsome like this; almost embarrassed, except Jellal can't imagine what embarrassment would even look like on Erik's face. It's just; a very real expression. Jellal can't quite decide what it is, but he knows he likes that curve around Erik's mouth, and that open, curious glint in his eye.

A small silence drags on and Jellal is thinking the mere act of getting to foreplay might be a tremendous task in and of itself.

"I fucked it up kinda, huh?" Erik asks, laughing and rubbing the back of his neck. "I've just been thinking about it a lot lately, you know? How... it would feel. It's like... everything with you is really electric and weird, and I thought that in particular would feel... insane, you know?"

Jellal simply looks at the man, silent. He doesn't know what to say. He licks his lips, and Erik is biting his own, looking down.

"Fuck. I get it if you don't wanna--"

Jellal cuts him off, swift and efficient with a well-placed press of his lips. They're suddenly much closer than before, and that feels a little surreal. Erik laughs.

"So is that a yes, or...?"

" _You_ _fucking_ \--" Jellal mumbles, and presses in again, this time much more insistent. It's a mix of passionate and paced, strangely secure yet unsure of its own direction. Erik is pulling at his hips, hands hard and insistent, and Jellal lets Erik drag their bodies closer together, slipping against each other like two puzzle pieces that don't quite fit.

"Is it bad to want you so much?" Erik asks, breath thin.

"I feel like we're way past asking that question," Jellal admits, and tugs on Erik's bottom lip with his teeth. The friction between them is a delicious thing, thick with their breath. Erik's shirt is being pealed off, his skin hot, and Jellal hears the first patter of rain on the tent above his head.

Jellal doesn't realize he's being reclined until his back hits their bed-mats; he pants, legs twisting up in Erik's like vines. Erik reaches to unbutton his shirt, and something in Jellal's head stalls.

"Wait," he says, reaching into his shirt pocket, and Erik looks at him, confused. Jellal gives a small smile. "This is gonna sound weird, but this woman in the market sold me this coin." He holds it up to reflect the little light left in the tent with the dwindling flame of one lantern.

"Or, well, she gave it to me. It's supposed to be enchanted to make sex more intimate, or something--" Erik gives him a look at this. "-- but I don't even really feel much magic coming off it. If there is, it can't be dangerous."

Erik raises his brows. "Okay. I guess. How do you use it?"

Jellal pulls the coin towards himself, pressing his lips softly to the warm, hard surface. It smells like metal, sharp and bloody, and he moves to press it into Erik's bare chest. Erik gives him an odd look, but doesn't say anything. Jellal appreciates it.

He tosses the coin down beside his head, feeling strangely giddy, and lifts himself up to press his lips back into Erik's. The twist of their bodies against each other is intoxicating, and Erik is quickly distracted from the intermission with the coin; a few buttons rip loudly off of Jellal's shirt as he works on it.

"Oops," he says lowly, not sounding at all apologetic. He's already moving on to bite at Jellal's collarbone, after all.

Jellal sheds his shirt completely, fingers going to work on Erik's trousers. Erik is luckily paying attention, shoving them down with Jellal's help. Erik's body is warm, his half-hard cock hanging down in the dark. Jellal works down his own trousers, lips going ferocious against Erik's, hungry, kept waiting too long.

Their bodies move together, exposed in an overwhelming slide, and Jellal groans loud into Erik's mouth.

He opens his eyes, suddenly anxious, and asks quietly, looking up at Erik's confused expression, "What about the others? They'll hear us."

Erik blinks, but quickly recovers. "Don't worry about that. I prepared." He whispers something, and looks up into Jellal's eyes. "Benefit of sound magic," he says. "You can make barriers. Now nobody outside this tent can hear us. It's quite handy."

Jellal raises a brow, surprised at the rather inventive solution. "Indeed," he says. He's half-hard between them, and comes upon a realization. "Do you have the; you know?"

Erik looks at him for a moment, then realizes what he means, and nods. He rummages a bit through his bag, tan body taught in the low light, and produces the jar for Jellal.

He takes it, anticipation bright in his stomach, and uncorks it to pour the velvety lubricant into his hand. It's cold, so he warms it between his fingers. He suddenly feels terribly embarrassed as he pries his own legs apart; but Erik is only looking at his face. Still, he feels very much on-display, and gives a heavy breath under Erik's curious gaze, willing himself to lower his hand.

The first breach of himself is entirely expected, but it still feels odd. There's no helping that, he supposes. It's been a while, anyway.

He works in a way he considers efficient; one finger is soon two, and Erik watches him all the while. He digs and stretches until he grows curious at the small smirk on Erik's face.

"What?" he asks, sounding blatantly accusatory.

"Nothing, it just seems like you're actively avoiding the only enjoyable part of this process," Erik says with a small laugh. He picks up the bottle of lubricant, pouring a small amount on his own fingers. "Do you mind if I...?"

Jellal gives a small shrug, but his heart beats fast in his chest. A slick finger enters under his own two, larger than his own, and he feels the heat of Erik's breath on his stomach. Erik looks terribly focused, and presses his finger with a precise push into Jellal's own, guiding them in the direction he desires. Jellal's cock, which had previously gone soft, twitches.

He doesn't miss the way Jellal bites his lip, while his hips twitch in pleasure.

"Why ignore that?" Erik asks, low and quiet.

Jellal gives a shaky breath. "I guess I'm just a very focused individual."

Erik laughs quietly, his other hand rubbing circles into Jellal's thigh. He presses his finger up again, and asks, "May I?"

Jellal swallows, and nods, retracting his own fingers. Erik slowly inserts another of his own in an exchange, the lubricant slick and cool, and he rubs softly at Jellal's insides. A moan stirs in his throat, hard to contain; Jellal clears his throat around it.

A third finger is joining the two before it, and amid the slight burn of the stretch, Erik is rubbing harder, insistent. Jellal feels his legs spread open wider on their own, and Erik is smirking, but he's too busy just trying to breathe to care.

He groans out loud with the grind of Erik's fingers into him, and before he can help himself, finds he's thrusting back into them, hips lifting and pushing in a confused struggle for pleasure.

"Already?" Erik is asking, although it's not cocky like Jellal would expect. But he's nodding in response, because yes, yes, and he feels terribly empty when Erik pulls his hand away.

"Don't get anxious," Erik says softly. He's reaching into his bag. Jellal's surprised he thought to get a condom, honestly. Erik's hand burns a brand into Jellal's hip while he rolls it down onto himself; the man bites his lip, holding back from pleasure, and then he's reaching for the small bottle between them.

Jellal's body hums in anticipation, relaxed and open yet tense in the chest with excitement. He's almost fully hard now, cock curving up from his body, and Erik is placing his warm hands on Jellal's thighs to hold them open. He's lubed himself up, and he breathes slowly as he presses the tip of himself against Jellal. It's gentle, and Jellal feels his body give slightly, and Erik works himself in slowly.

He pushes himself in through small, pointed thrusts, and Jellal is going mad just trying to stay still. He wants to move, to grind down, to take and give until his vision goes black. Erik settles fully inside him, and the man is sweating, beads forming along his collar bone. Jellal is embarrassed to find himself salivating.

He wraps his legs around Erik's own, yearning for closeness although he's not sure how they could possibly be closer at this point. Erik thrusts softly, eye glassy with pleasure. Perhaps it's cliche, but Jellal feels like a lock has clicked into place. They fit together in a way that seems it shouldn't be possible but feels so fundamentally right that nothing else might ever compare to the electricity running along his veins.

It's terrifying, overwhelming, and most of all, euphoric.

"Is it good?" Jellal asks, barely recognizing his own voice; it's strung-out and coarse on lust and effort.

Erik is nodding, sweating along his brow, and Jellal is kissing him there without thinking, lips coming back wet with salt.

"I can't; gods, yeah, it feels good; _fuck_ ," Erik pants.

Jellal wants to pull him in closer, but there's barely any space between them already.

"Come on," Jellal says, but it isn't demanding, just a gentle lead, almost how one whispers to a spooked horse.

Erik thrusts into him again, setting a slow pace; Jellal feels like his mind is being split in two, even more than his body is. His body is heavy, and he feels so concrete in his skin; a way he's never felt like this, so exposed and on-display.

He pushes back into Erik, and gives him a look that's really a question, and Erik answers a positive; a sharper thrust into him. They're sweating together, one body a lake between them. They move together as Erik's thrusts come faster, still deep and splitting, and Jellal's thighs are shaking with pleasure. He's leaking against his stomach, taking in the stretch of Erik's body over him with hungry eyes.

He doesn't realize he's holding Erik's face, the man's gaze glassy and focused solely on Jellal's face. It's too much. _It's_ _just_ _right_.

"Just a little more," Jellal says, throat croaking, and Erik thrusts sharp into him at an angle. Jellal's hips twitch and he's panting into the humid air between them, and all he can do is speak out Erik's name, but it breaks, cracks between them, and that's how he comes.

Everything pulses and moves and his neck stretches, the back of his head pressed into the pillows. All he can think is: he feels golden. He's not sure what it means, or what it's supposed to be, but that's what it is. Golden and so, so good he could cry and maybe he is, but he can't tell, and he doesn't really care.

He comes back to the harsh sound of his own panting, echoing waves still stuck in his hips. Erik goes hot inside him and he watches the man come, eye shutting tight. He looks like he might faint; he's flushed even under his tanned skin, and Jellal can swear he sees the vibrations traveling along all his nerves, pretty like the stars.

"Gods," Erik chokes out, and then he's consuming Jellal's mouth with his own, like a man dying of thirst.

Jellal tries to find words, brain a cluttered mess, and he stumbles with the sounds in his mouth, but he manages to clearly say: "... ever before?"

Erik shakes his hard, adamant. "No. Holy fuck, no."

The sweat starts to cool between them, sticky and smelling hot and bitterly salty. Erik cleans Jellal's belly with a spare blanket, but he still seems reluctant to pull out. He does so anyway, after another moment, and Jellal briefly feels so empty it's like his chest collapses.

Erik tosses the tied condom somewhere in the corner, and then he's lying his body along Jellal's, a warm, still vibrating thing, and Jellal would swear he could feel his own skin glowing with a shimmer in the now-dark. The lantern is completely out. He's a little too hot to be so close but Erik wraps a warm arm around Jellal's waist anyway.

Jellal thinks he feels drunk except in the best way possible, and it's not long before he falls into a blanketing, dreamless sleep. The rain chimes away, keeping time with his slowing breath.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it totally wasn't her okay but the idea that that old woman running the stall might have been Ultear is very funny to me
> 
> Comments are lifeblood and sexier than enchanted coins


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consumption of alcohol and some tipsy (but not drunk) sexual contact in this chapter (not very explicit either). 
> 
> Jellal does dumb things, Erik is a little shit.

Jellal wakes to rain. 

It's gray in the tent, light enough to see every outline of the shadows around him. He thinks it must be just before dawn, but the cloud cover makes it hard to tell. 

Beside him, a large bronze back stirs in the quiet light, and Jellal blinks. He swallows. All he can hear is his own breath, the pounding of rain. 

He needs some air. 

He's climbing out of the tent before he can think about it; it's only rain. It's cold beneath no summer sun, pricking his skin as if with careful, precise fingers. He ignores it. 

He walks forward, until he's standing over the crest of the hill they'd set their tents on in case of flooding. The air smells wild and undone; his feet sink in the the mud just slightly. He's staring over the trees. 

He doesn't know how long he stands there, shivering in the rain. The sky lightens, he knows that; still gray but not quite so dismal. He's shivering, clothes forgotten in the tent. He doesn't move that whole time, transfixed by the fall of the rain, until there is a voice behind him. 

"Jellal?" Erik asks, and Jellal blinks with the tug back to the flow of time. He turns, faces the man before him. Specks of rain dot his tan face, hair flattening under the weight of water. 

"Hey," Erik says, and it's so, so soft; Jellal thinks he might not have heard it were the rain any louder. "Come inside." Erik holds out his hand. "Let me warm you up."

Jellal looks down, studying the calloused hand offered to him. He has his arms crossed over his body, shivering in the cold. With a slow nod, he takes Erik's hand.

____________

Erik is so, so warm. The rain doesn't stop until noon, and during that time they never separate for more than a moment. Erik is not always inside him; they don't have enough materials for that, and it's too stimulating at times anyway; but they are always close, always rocking together, one body in two. 

All of Erik is warm, and Jellal bathes in it late into the day. 

When the rain stops, he starts to laugh, soft and gentle. 

"What?" Erik asks, curious. He looks a bit fascinated; Jellal supposes he doesn't laugh often so it must be a sight. 

"I have absolutely no clue where my clothes are," Jellal says, slightly out of breath, and Erik lets out a grin as well. 

______________

The sun comes out to shine bright in the afternoon, the members of Crime Sorcière emerging from their tents in a slow procession. The warmth follows Jellal around all day; his hips feel like they've been split apart, although there's very little pain. It's simply as if the sockets of his pelvis had readjusted themselves in the night, and walking becomes an expectedly silly affair. Macbeth stops to give him an odd look, although he's hardly wobbling, as much as he thinks he could fall over at any moment. He ignores him. 

When he re-enters the tent, he makes a face; Erik is reading in the corner, although this is not what concerns him. 

"Erik," he says. "The whole tent smells like sex and ejaculate."

Erik looks up; makes a face back. "No it doesn't."

Jellal shakes his head. "That's just because you've been sitting here and you're used to it. Come on. We should at least wash the bedclothes."

Erik grumbles, but gets up to help  
anyway. 

As they're walking out of the tent, the more soiled linens covered under their arms, Meredy sees them. 

"What happened?" she asks, walking forward to stop them. "Laundry already?"

Jellal is about to open his mouth when Erik replies. 

"Oh, Jellal got quite ill last night. Vomited everywhere."

Jellal sets his jaw in annoyance, but sees he has no choice but to contribute. "Yep," he says, Meredy's concerned eyes on him. "Must have been something I ate. All better now."

Meredy's eyebrows knit. "Well, I guess it's good you're feeling better." She turns to look at Erik. "He is feeling better, yes? He's not lying about that?"

Erik looks like a child who has just been handed a piece of candy the size of his own head. "Oh, yes, it was rough at first, but he's fine now. I mean, it was surprising and all, he really did have his guts in a twist--"

"Alright, Erik," Jellal says shortly. Erik is desperately trying to suppress a grin on his face. "She doesn't need to hear all the details."

Erik tips his head in acquiescence, too busy trying to hide silent laughter. 

Meredy looks at them curiously, but shrugs. "Okay. As long as you're feeling better." She sighs. "Don't make fun of him too much," she says to Erik, giving him a slight look. Erik nods, as if dutiful. 

After a moment, she seems satisfied, and leaves them for their walk down to the river. 

"Insufferable," Jellal says, shaking his head. "Why didn't you just say I had an 'obstruction in my rectum,' you child?" he laments sarcastically. 

Erik bursts out into audible laughter, no longer able to hold it in. "I thought about it," he admits. 

"Are you actually thirteen?" Jellal asks, facing him fully. He's very stubbornly suppressing any grin of his own. 

"If I was really thirteen, you'd be in a shit ton of trouble," Erik says, still laughing. "I believe that's very illegal."

Jellal shakes his head. He gives Erik a soft kick to the shin, which the Dragon-Slayer protests to sorely, and begins to walk down to the river.

____________

They eat salted fish that night, and go to bed with another incoming storm. The week passes slowly with the rains, almost constant some days. Jellal thinks he would much more quickly go stir crazy if he and Erik weren't so resolutely distracting themselves. Still, they try to pace themselves and keep an eye out to keep things a little cleaner. It's good to keep an ear out, too, in case they were suddenly interrupted. 

At some point, when Erik is out, Jellal finds the coin, still on its string. It's empty now, he thinks, but slips it around his neck anyways. He wears it under his shirt. 

The week passed easily this way, and the Guild is all too happy when the sun finally sets and no rain appears. 

"We should celebrate," Meredy says. "We don't know when we'll have another dry night again."

Macbeth and Sorano agree eagerly, and it's only moments before they've appeared with several bottles of what appears to be liquor. 

"And that is?" Jellal asks, eyebrows raised. 

"Enchanted wine," Macbeth answers. "We bought it in the last town. Great for a party. There was a slogan and everything."

"I don't know if--"

"I think a party is a lovely idea," Meredy says. She throws Jellal a look. "Everyone could use a chance to cut loose."

Jellal shuts his mouth. It's not the end of the world, he supposes. 

"Enchanted?" Erik is asking. "Like, I can get drunk on it, enchanted?"

Macbeth and Sorano laugh. "That's kinda the point of drinking, right; why do you think we picked it up?" the man says. 

Erik seems quickly on board after this. Jellal surrenders to the inevitable. 

______________

It's only an hour later he's tipsy on the wine; it is quite good, and leaves more of a pleasant buzz than he's used to with regular alcohol. Macbeth and Sawyer are dancing haphazardly around the fire, Sorano clapping them on. Meredy is reclining next to her, practically dumping herself into the girl's lap. Richard looks on from the back, sitting on a rock, a smile on his face. 

Jellal is laying in the grass, Erik a few feet away from him. The man seems to radiate heat; he's laughing and smiling easily, tipsy as well. It must be nice for him. 

Jellal's insides squirm, breath heavy with the smell of wine, and he sits up. 

"Erik," he says, heart beating faster. "Lets go into the woods."

Erik looks at him, surprised. He's so expressive like this. "Are you sure?" he asks. "The others..."

"They're too drunk to notice," Jellal says quietly. He feels like laughing. He stands, feeling surprisingly well-balanced. "Lets go."

Erik gives the others another glance, looking them over; and then stands to join him. 

____________

They're laughing through the trees, stumbling a bit in the dark with their foggy heads. Jellal drags Erik over by the mossy bank of the river, heart thrumming hard with excitement. He sits down on the soft green, and Erik's quickly following him. 

He doesn't think at all as he's pulling apart the buttons on his shirt, and he decides he loves it. He kisses the man in front of him, and they're falling backwards, shirts and pants getting tugged open, skin shifting on skin in the moonlight. 

Jellal feels so giddy, limbs thrumming with it. Erik feels so good against him, and it's all he cares about. 

He's laughing as he says, "You could make me glow."

Erik grins into his neck, slowing. "You sound drunk--"

Jellal is shaking his head vehemently. "I only had a little, it's just--" He lets his head fall back into the moss. "You make me high, too."

He gets a laugh and roll of Erik's eyes at that.

They move against each other, a messy collusion, and Jellal loves every moment of it. He's panting, words pouring out of his mouth without permission, but he can't seem to care. 

"You could make love to me like this," he's saying. 

Erik stills, face going blank. "Jellal--"

"What?" he asks, confused, because Erik doesn't look happy, and he's supposed to be feeling good and he doesn't understand--

"There's--" Erik starts, but it's too late. 

"Hey," a voice calls, and it's feminine and bent with drunkenness. Something in Jellal stirs but he's slow, brain melted.

There's a loud sound, and he sits up, Erik suddenly out of his space, and Sorano is there, only feet away, covering her mouth. The noise seems to have come from her; her eyes are wide, and Jellal can't tell if she's disgusted or just unbelieving. 

"Holy shit!" she says, letting out a sharp laugh, looking them over. She stumbles slightly; she's quite drunk. She cackles loudly, as if this is the funniest thing she's ever seen. "Holy shit!" she cries again, louder this time, and her eyes look like they will pop out of her skull. 

She turns, and she's stumble-running away from them before he can even say anything. Erik yells after her, but there's no response. She continues to yell and laugh at herself as she retreats into the woods. 

Erik is standing, and he holds a hand out for Jellal. 

"There's no point," he says, but takes it anyways. The cold is starting to close in on him. "By tomorrow, everyone will know."

For a moment, the only part of Erik he can make out in the dark as he turns to look at him is the glint of his eye. Something in him falls, and he watches as it does so on Erik's face as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like... honestly... Jellal Would stand naked out in the rain, wouldn't he? So emo snndndjs
> 
> Obviously a tad bit of angst coming up? But it's mostly just conflict with others and there's some humor to break it up.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am... well aware it's been... just over two months. So... sorry about that. Plus, this turned out way angstier than intended. But I'm here now, at least! I'm thinking this has... four? Chapters left maybe? We'll see. This was originally going to be a longer chapter but I decided to break it up into two parts.

Jellal wakes with a familiar sinking dread, although this time it has nothing to do with dreams. He and Erik had sat quietly in the tent last night, having retreated from the woods, quite literally sobered. They hadn't talked; they could both see the storm coming, and there was no need to point it out.

Erik is gone when he wakes. Jellal doesn't know where; but it's not entirely unusual. The man has always needed his space, just like Jellal himself. It's early, he thinks, an ache spreading between his eyes. Too early.

He needs to eat; nausea roils in his stomach.

He exits the tent to see a familiar pink head sat at the fire; Meredy is stirring a large pot of porridge periodically, hunkered over. It makes her look small. He assumes everyone else must still be asleep, gladly resting away the previous night's drunkenness.

Meredy looks up, sees him; blinks; then anger twists her features. Jellal feels himself feebly hoping she's just terribly hungover. Nobody's happy hungover.

"Morning," she says in a clipped tone, and against his better judgement, Jellal advances towards the campfire. "Where's Erik?" she asks, and a sharp sting goes off like a flare in his chest.

She looks up at him with tired eyes, clearly exhausted and pale. So the hangover at least isn't helping, then.

"I don't know," he says quietly. "I'm not his keeper. You know how he is. He does as he pleases."

Meredy turns away from him, her face going dark as she crumples again, balled up in herself. She whispers something like, "what I'm afraid of."

He feels awkward standing while she sits, so he bends down to his knees, lowering himself to the ground; although an appropriate distance away from her. He doesn't want to crowd her when she's angry.

"You could've told me," she says softly, stirring the porridge again. "I know you keep your secrets. But I thought, if you were to tell anyone--" she cuts herself off abruptly. "I thought this would be different," she continues, and her voice cracks with a feeble whine.

Jellal swallows, guilt clawing at his chest. "Is it too cliché to says it's... complicated?"

"Yes," Meredy answers curtly.

"Alright then," Jellal sighs. It's odd, that it simply never occurred to him to tell her. That he thought it could only ever be a secret. Was it because of shame? Sure, there was some shame he felt over his interactions with Erik, but it all had softened, come into perspective. He thinks, maybe, he just wanted something to be his and his alone, just this once.

"You enjoy him?" Meredy asks. Her brow furrows. "I mean, I don't know why else you'd be.... but, you have a skill for hurting yourself, Jellal Fernandes. It wouldn't be too surprising to find you enjoy it."

She's not wrong, he thinks, breathing softly. But this isn't that.

"I'd be lying if I said I hadn't acted that way in the past," he says slowly, careful with his words. "But this... has been different. I'm not sure how, but..."

Meredy nods. "Different because you want it to be, or because it actually is?"

 _Both?_ Jellal thinks. He's not sure. He's not sure about any of it. "I don't know."

"What do you know?" It's not angry, or hateful; simply honest. Her eyes are wide when she looks at him. She wants to know.

"I know I don't want to stop," he croaks out, and he hates admitting it, but it's true.

There's a thump behind him, and, "Talking about me?"

He turns his head to see Erik standing behind them, arms folded. He's dropped his pack on the ground.

Meredy stands as well, tensing in what is likely not just anger, but also pain or nausea.

"Erik," Jellal says calmly. "This might not be the best time."

"Nah," Erik says, voice hard. Jellal doesn't miss the way his jaw sets. "It's fine. If Pinky has something she wants to say to me, she can say it. I'm a grownup. I can handle it."

"There's no need to be patronizing," Meredy says quietly, eyes all quiet death and dark blue bags.

Jellal feels another wave of nausea, clenching in his stomach, and he stands. "Erik," he says again, quieter this time, soft, and he doesn't know how he can say it that way, like it belongs to him, but he does. He can't tell if it makes him feel prideful or guilty. Probably both.

"She's pissed, isn't she," Erik says, aside to Jellal, although he hasn't broken eye contact with Meredy. "It's alright. Kids can get so possessive about their things."

Meredy's nostrils flair, her jaw going tight. "I hope you're enjoying yourself," she croaks out, voice dark.

"Oh, we are," Erik says, and Jellal gets the distinct feeling of standing and doing nothing as he watches a hurricane roll in.

"Lovely," Meredy says shortly, shaking her head. "I don't give a damn what you do. I was speaking with Jellal, not you. All I care about is if you're using him."

"What, you don't want to hear about how I've fucked him?" Erik says, and Jellal feels a pang as anger rises in him as well.

" _Erik!_ " he hisses, eyes wide.

Meredy's face is so cold with rage, it legitimately scares him. He's never seen her like this; not in a long time, anyway.

"And Jellal's a big boy, he can handle himself," Erik continues. "So I wouldn't worry your little head about it."

Meredy's mouth is open in disbelief. "I don't know what he sees in you," she grits out. "Excuse me for being concerned for a person I care about."

They've drifted closer, anger pushing them all towards each other, and Jellal feels caught between two forces of nature.

"So that's a no, then?" Erik chides, but his eyes are dark too, like he's not even enjoying this. Like he hates it. Jellal can't understand why he's doing this, then. "You don't wanna hear about him underneath me, begging for me?"

Meredy looks like she is about to bare her teeth, an animal backed into a corner.

Erik sneers, shaking his head. "Of course not. You're just a jealous little girl."

For a moment, the air is still. The eye of the hurricane, Jellal thinks. The moment of peace. It doesn't last long.

Meredy's palm comes crashing down through the air, colliding with Erik's face so hard the noise is sharp as a bell in the quiet morning. It turns Erik's head, sending his upper body sideways, and he curses loudly. Jellal can't move, stunned, although he should have known.

Erik's nose is bleeding, and his face is so hot and red it's as if Jellal can hear his own ears ringing.

"Shit!" Erik cries, clutching his face. "What the hell!"

Meredy descends to where he staggers, a swift cat boiling with rage. "You can fuck him as much as you like," she spits. "But you will _not_ speak to me that way."

She takes a fistful of Erik's hair, and shoves him away with it.

"Meredy," Jellal tries, still struggling to make himself move.

"No!" she says, and suddenly she's crying. Hard stone crumbles into angry, heated tears. " _Don't_. Don't you dare justify him speaking to me that way."

"I wouldn't," he forces out, limbs shaking, and she gives him a bitter look. It dissolves into a pained grimace, and he can't stand to see it. " _Please_ \--"

"You are all I have left out here!" She cries. "You are the only damned family I have left! And you treat me like you don't even know me! You never let me within a foot of your world!"

He's stunned back into silence. She cries, face red, a terrible display. After a moment, she calms slightly, and shakes her head.

"I wish things were easier for you," she says quietly, and turns, beginning to walk away.

He calls after her, but he knows better than to follow; not now, anyway; and watches her stalk resolutely into the trees.

He turns to Erik, who is still clutching his bleeding nose.

"What the _hell_ is wrong with you?" Jellal says, voice nearly breaking. He's absolutely incredulous.

Erik shrugs. "Wasn't nice, was it?"

"Of course it wasn't nice!" Jellal exclaims, frustration boiling up hot and demanding in his limbs. "What on _earth_ were you thinking!"

"She got me back for it. Doesn't matter."

Jellal feels himself go silent with rage. He can only stare at Erik, insistent for an answer.

"What?" Erik asks, voice muddled with his plugged nose. "You don't get it?" He shakes his head. "Sometimes it's nice to pretend something is yours, even when you know it isn't."

Jellal can't say anything. He blinks, confused and angry, and turns, walking to shut himself back inside the tent.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erik isn't talking about Meredy at the end there, is he? 
> 
> Humor and tentative make-ups next chapter. Reactions from the rest of the guild, so be looking forward to that! I've lost a lot of motivation for this story but it's still something I really want to finish. 
> 
> That being said, comments really do keep me inspired, even if I take two months to update. (It's shouldn't take quite that long this time, don't worry, lol! Just with FT ending, and getting ready for and then settling into college... it's been a lot).


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dreams and makeups and humor and sexy times 
> 
> (Technically two sex scenes, you lucky ducks)

Jellal dreams he's on his side, Erik slowly splitting him open.

The air is thick and hot and he can't breathe; he feels large, warm hands on his side, in his hair, under his thigh. He curls his head back into the man who's breath sings along his neck. There's the smell of spices, cinnamon and sandlewood and cloves, and Jellal rocks back into the thicker body behind him.

Erik's thick, rounded fingers claw at him, holding his flesh tight, and Jellal feels himself sweat in the hot air. Erik makes a pleased noise in his ear, and it ripples through Jellal, a pushing tide stirring his insides.

"Knew you missed this, huh?" Erik is saying, and Jellal can't speak, so he only pushes back with fervor, mind addled with fog. "Couldn't go just a few days. You need this, don't you?"

Jellal's gaze is going blurry, dark at the edges as he struggles to think.

"Needed _me_."

•••••••••••

Jellal wakes to the same sight as the last couple of days; Erik, sleeping, as far away from him in the tent as possible. The rains are still here, and neither of them has opted to switch tents; perhaps, Jellal thinks, because this would feel like an admission of something.

He grunts and breathes through his teeth, lying back down. He folds his legs a little, turns on his side and tries to ignore the erection between his thighs. He's certainly not taking care of it himself, here or anywhere, and he doesn't much feel like having Erik take care of it either.

Jellal stares at the blank wall of the tent, a dusty beige, his back to Erik. He quietly curses all the alcohol he has ever imbibed.

••••••••••

"I think we should talk to them," he says, later, after he's eaten and Erik has woken up. "All together. Set our boundaries before they can test them."

Erik stares at him blankly, and Jellal feels lost. He shakes his head.

"After I talk to Meredy first, I think," he continues. "Hopefully that isn't terrible."

Erik is looking at the floor of the tent, and when he realizes Jellal is waiting for a response from him, he looks up, and simply shrugs. Jellal feels so frustrated he could scream.   
  
••••••••••

Jellal finds her sitting at the edge of the campsite on a grassy knoll. It's been a tense few days; they haven't spoken, and it feels wholeheartedly unnatural.

"Hey," he says quietly. She doesn't turn, but she's heard him approach, he can tell.

Her head turns ever-so-slightly after a moment.

"Hey," she answers finally. There's a beat. "Don't just stand there like an idiot. Sit down."

Jellal's heart picks up; with fear, hope? He isn't sure. But he nods, even if she can't see it, and settles himself down onto the grass. He clears his throat. After a moment, he says, "So.... I'm sorry."

Meredy takes a deep breath in. He can see her face now; it's calm, a little tired around the edges. "I know you are," she says. "But... thank you."

Jellal nods, not knowing what to say. "If I'd- I don't know. If I had told you, that's never how I would have wanted it to go."

She glances at him, curious. "I know. I didn't get the sense you really had a plan." There's a little mirth around her eyes, and it's comforting.

"Obviously not," Jellal says, and a bitter smile cuts through his features. "And I know it's obvious, but I am. Sorry, I mean. And I would never... Erik and I haven't really spoken since."

Meredy blinks, turning her head to look at him fully. "I'm a smart girl, Jellal. I know all the things he said; they weren't about me at all. We both know that. He's never been like that to me before, so it's something else, right?"

Jellal swalllows, shrugs. "I can only guess."

Her eyes are cool in the morning light, and she gives him a small smile. "It's almost funny. He's, what; three years older than I am? He was right about children. They do get awfully jealous." She lets out a laugh. "And little boys can be very cruel."

Jellal feels his mouth turning up to mirror hers, although he doesn't feel very happy. "That's true," he admits. "But mostly; I..."

His eyebrows knit together, a little display of the emotion he holds back. He picks at the grass. "I do want us to be okay. You and me. Neither of us have very many people left."

She looks at him, quietly. It's unnerving.

"I don't suppose it helps," he tries. "But I'm about that closed off; boarded up; with everyone. Erik is simply... very good at seeing things."

Meredy gives a rueful smile. "Jellal," she says. "I can tell that much." She sighs, looking out over the trees. "It'll be alright. Time and all wounds and all that."

Jellal bites his lip. "Yeah," he says. " _Time_."

Before he can say anything else, Meredy lays a hand over his. "I miss her too," she says quietly. "Please don't forget that. We're both hurting. All of us are hurting; they all are too, in their own ways." Her eyes are quiet and honest, and Jellal wants to twist away from the gaze, but he stays put.

He clears his throat. "Do you think you and Erik will ever speak again? Because that might make things awfully awkward."

"More awkward than they are already?"

Jellal dips his head, giving a grin. "Fair point."

Meredy lifts her brows, gives a little shrug. "I'm willing to get over it, in time. But I get the feeling it's more his problem than mine. He doesn't seem one to be great at apologizing, either."

"No, probably not," Jellal admits. It's the best he can do for now, probably. Reasoning with Erik will likely take much more time than a small chat like this.

"We're going to gather everyone later to get things out in the open," he continues. "Rumors and secrets are nasty. Better to just flesh it out."

He looks up, and is greeted by an arched eyebrow and quirked lip.

"Sure you're ready for that?"

"I'm not entirely sure 'ready' exists, my friend."

•••••••••••

Jellal has finally settled everyone together; the hardest part was getting Erik to stand up with him; and he offers a perfunctory explanation, then asks, "Are there any questions?"

He promptly realizes he's already messed up. Give these people an inch, and they'll take a mile.

"I'm sorry," Sorano says. "Can we go back to the part where you two are _fucking_?"

Erik sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose.

"I don't think there's a need to be crude," Jellal tries. "But yes, although the details are not your business, we currently have a sexual relationship."

"It's not that surprising," Macbeth cuts in. "I always suspected. How long has it been? Half a year?"

Jellal blinks, cinching his eyebrows together. "What? No. It's been a couple months, maybe. Two and a half, tops."

Erik laughs quietly behind him.

"You sure?" Macbeth says.

Jellal nearly splutters. "I think I would have noticed sleeping with someone for six months, yes!"

"Don't get mad, you'll only feed him," Erik says quietly. Jellal shakes his head.

"Does anybody else have anything to say?"

Richard nods, quiet, and raises his hand. "Uh, sure. I think it's nice that you're enjoying yourselves, and it really isn't any of our business beyond that, right?"

Jellal thinks he should really appreciate Richard more often.

"I disagree," Macbeth pipes up again. "I want to know if Erik still makes that weird face when you touch his balls."

Jellal raises a brow. "What do you mean, 'still?'"

Macbeth's face lights up with a frankly terrifying joy. "Oh. He didn't tell you?"

Erik makes a strangled noise behind him, and Jellal is really starting to regret this.

"Oh, we slept together just, like, once, when we were... seventeen?" Macbeth tries to appear casual, but he is clearly enjoying this way too much. "You know, teenagers. Trying to fuck everything that moves. It was inevitable, really. Only once, but enough details to last a lifetime."

Jellal blinks slowly, willing himself to breathe in, out. He doesn't have to ask why Erik didn't tell him. He wouldn't have either.

"While that information is... interesting... it's not really relevant."   
Jellal nods to the group. That makes sense, right? A plenty good defense.

Now Sawyer is nodding fervently. "I totally agree. I don't see why we need to know any of this."

"You cannot seriously tell me you're not intrigued!" Macbeth exclaims. "You don't even want to know who tops?"

Sawyer makes a sour face. "I would say minding one's own business is actually the normal response, but you do you."

"Macbeth's just jealous because he's not getting laid himself," Sorano says. This is really getting out of hand, Jellal decides.

Meredy is quietly laughing her ass off in the back, having joined halfway through. It's alright. Jellal figures he probably deserves the embarrassment.

"If that's settled," he says a little too loudly. "Then we'll move on. You know two of your Guild members are.... fraternizing, and that's at most relevant to you making sure there's no conflict of interest. That is where your involvement ends, however. Agreed?"

There a few grumbles, a few nods, and Jellal feels them all settle back down from the excitement. Meredy gives him a wink.

•••••••

After dinner, the rain begins to fall again, and Jellal and Erik return to their tent. There had been some whoops and wolf whistles from Macbeth as they entered the tent together, but Jellal pushes that to the back of his mind.

"Thanks for catching the fish for tonight," he says politely, desperately attempting small talk.

Erik gives a grunt and a nod.

"I talked to Meredy," Jellal says, trying to discern whether or not he should even approach the subject. "Went well."

"That's good," Erik nods, not looking at him. Jellal fights the frustration building in his chest.

"I was thinking," he starts quietly, keeping his words even and steady. "It might be nice... if... you did something... just to. I don't know. Show that you're sorry. For being a bit, uh, rude. Well, more than a bit. But you don't even have to say it. Just... do something nice."

Erik looks up at him, eyebrows knit together. "I did," he says gruffly.

"You did?" Jellal repeats, surprised.

"Yeah," Erik shrugs. "I gave her the biggest fish tonight."

"Ah," Jellal says, pressing his lips together. Only Erik, honestly.   
"Maybe something else, then. Maybe just say the words. So she knows."

Erik watches his face. He clears his throat. "Okay. Probably. I'll think about it."

Jellal feels a heaviness fall right off his shoulders; he hadn't realized how badly it'd been weighing on him.

"Good. Thank you." He gives a little nod. "That would... make me happy."

"Yeah?"

Jellal gives him a look. "Yeah. I just said... yeah, Erik."

Erik nods. "Okay."

Jellal doesn't know whether to laugh or punch him. Oh well. He never expected this not to be difficult.

Something stirs in his stomach, and he scoots forward. "Hey," he says quietly. "Look at me?"

Erik looks up; notices his closeness. "What?" he asks curiously.

Jellal feels the corner of his mouth twitch. He watches the wine-dark eye search his own face, and he moves in a little closer. "Make love to me tonight." Erik opens his mouth, surprise showing on his face, and Jellal cuts him off. "And don't talk. No talking at all. Either of us."

Erik closes his mouth; studies him closely. "Okay," he says quietly, as if aware he has already broken a rule.

Jellal kisses him softly, even though he still tastes a little like fish, and he closes his eyes as he backs away. He breathes slowly, and opens his eyes to see Erik staring at him like he's some foreign creature that's simply wandered into Erik's tent.

"What?" he asks, aware he's breaking his own rule.

Erik shakes his head. "Nothing. Come here."

He sheds his clothes quickly; he realizes there's a routine between them now, steady and efficient. He soaks in the bronze skin under him, crawling into Erik's lap. Erik's hands feel so big and warm, callouses catching on Jellal's skin.

Erik thumbs at the coin he's been wearing around his neck, curious.

"You still wearing this?" he asks.

Jellal only nods, as if to keep the conversation short. He realizes no words at all is a little unrealistic, but they can at least get close. Erik gives a small smile, and moves on to sink his teeth into Jellal's flesh.

Erik stares at him the whole time he prepares himself, even though he can't see anything; he's transfixed by the mere action. Jellal is impatient, yet he tries not to rush; it's all worth it when he sinks down on Erik's cock, still seated firmly in the man's lap. Gravity carries him down and splits him open, makes him feel so full his chest hurts with it. He has to cover his mouth to stifle the loud moan that almost escapes.

Erik is blinking softly, still looking at him, and Jellal breathes hard as he begins to move. He rolls his hips, steady and a little unsure, and Erik licks his lips. Jellal meets them with his own, mouths twisting in the dark; the lantern has long gone out. He feels blind, hanging on only by a grip on Erik's shoulders as the man takes his hips in his hands.

Jellal leans forward, trying to catch his breath, and Erik bucks into him; his cock twitches at the rush of electricity, and he moans messily into Erik's shoulder. Erik takes this as decided approval.

He tries to move his own hips, match the pace of Erik meeting him, thrusting upwards. Sweat dampens Jellal's hair and everything smells like sex; he groans and loses rhythm, nails clawing into Erik's shoulders. That'll leave a mark tomorrow, he thinks, but he can't care.

Erik gives a squeeze to his side, as if in reassurance; it gets harder for Jellal to hold himself up, and he's nearly sobbing as he comes against their stomachs, head lolling around on Erik's shoulder.

Jellal breathes, tries to compose himself; he sits up, grasps at Erik's neck to pull him in close to kiss him. They separarte, and he's still breathless; he begins to lean back on the bed mats.

Erik looks confused, and Jellal pushes back his sweaty hair.

"Come here," he says softly, beckoning the man forward. "Come on, come here, it's alright."

Erik follows him down, studying him, and their bodies press back together. The man thumbs at Jellal's face, looking contemplative.

"What is it?" Jellal asks.

Erik shakes his head. Nothing important, he seems to decide.

"Then go ahead," Jellal says shakily, and Erik nods. He's laid out, spread open and wide, and Erik tries to hold back, not to thrust into him too hard, but he's been waiting. Jellal only encourages him. He wants to feel everything Erik can give.

Erik grunts hard, covers his own mouth; he thrusts forward sharp, and Jellal breathes hard into his arm hung over his face. His body is still half-awake, oversensitive and intrigued at the continued stimulation, and he wants to cry out when Erik pushes into him like that.

"Come on," Jellal says softly, out of breath. "Come on."

Erik grinds into him, looking almost pained, and twists a hand into Jellal's hair. Another hard thrust, and he's coming, Jellal can feel it. Sweat shines on Erik's torso in the low light. Erik groans brokenly, dipping his head down, and Jellal readily accepts him as Erik all but collapses half on-top of the Heavenly Body Mage.

Jellal threads his fingers through Erik's hair, a gentle stroke, and he breathes softly. The rain has stopped. The night is still.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi I'm tired and uhhh if you're still here I love you and please comment and tell me you love me too


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m thinking maybe one more chapter, then an epilogue?
> 
> Also, I’m sorry this took so long to get out; well, I’m sort of sorry. It’s complicated. College has been hell; not because it’s hard academically, just because I uhhhh hate it here lol. So that’s a whole thing. 
> 
> This chapter got a little muddled with my stream-of-consciousness, so I hope it’s understandable. Erza’s introduction is way too sudden, but eh, I just really want to finish this story; not to just be done with it, but also because I do care about it.

The slow swing of red brings a hot brand over his chest; one he recognizes instantly. The feeling that comes is more recognizable than the feature itself; her hair settles, sleek, in the windy day after she dismounts. 

He waits until she’s tying up her horse; Meredy is behind him, and he can feel her nervous energy in a chaotic radiation about her. 

“Erza,” he says, not quite loud enough, he thinks, but her head turns anyways. 

The easy smile that graces her lips is rare, but welcomed. 

“Jellal,” she says pleasantly, stalking towards him. Her embrace is tight and overwhelming; she still smells of strawberries. She releases him. “How have you been, my friend?”

He blinks, mind attempting to keep up. “I think I should be the one asking questions; what are you doing here?” He cringes slightly at his own tone of voice, and amends, “Not that your presence isn’t welcome. We do try to stay off the grid, though.”

Erza tilts her head, her lips curving slightly. “Meredy sent me ravens. Can’t blame me for wanting to keep tabs.”

Jellal turns to look at the girl behind him, who gives a little shrug. He supposes he can’t be angry. Maybe this makes them even. 

“You look well,” Erza says, and her eyes are smiling. He offers a gentle nod, mouth soft at the edges. 

“It’s been a while,” he says, the air between them a strange thing, bigger than himself. 

“It has,” Erza confirms. “But I have to apologize. I didn’t come here just to catch up.” She eyes the trees, taking a breath. “Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”

Jellal swallows, but nods. He turns to see the rest of his Guild out of their tents, eyeing the scene in front of them. He motions for Erza to follow him, and he begins walking them through camp, into the forest. Finding himself brave, Jellal nods at Erik as he passes. 

••••••••••••

“No, I can’t say I’ve ever heard of it,” Jellal is saying. The wind passes quietly around them, the sky dark with clouds. Besides the rustling of the trees, it is silent in a way that is fundamentally unnerving. “Alvarez,” he says softly, testing the syllables on his tongue. “All this time...?”

“We need all the help we can get,” Erza says solemnly. Jellal wonders, idly, if when he arrives the whole kingdom while spawn a feeling a deja-vú in him; a terrifying sense that he had seen it all before, because perhaps, in a way, somewhere deep in his mind, he had. 

“They may take some convincing,” Jellal says slowly, thinking of his Guildmates, “but we will follow your lead.” He hasn’t much thought about it before, but their suffering, too, eventually leads back to Zeref. 

Something like relief seems to smooth Erza’s shoulders, and she nods. “Thank you.” She looks up at him, quiet for a moment. “We’ll all have to do even more than our very best, but... part of me knows it has to be possible to win.”

“Survival,” Jellal says softly, and she looks at him, and he’s certain she knows what he means. They both know that state of being; of living only to stay alive; of that indomitable will, past suffering, past pain, that keeps the aching soul moving. Perhaps it should be a horrible thought, but with survival comes a determination he knows can move the earth itself. 

“My old friend,” she says quietly, her voice low, and her throat croaks when she continues, “I’m so tired of war.” She sighs, deep into her chest. “You never answered me earlier. How are you?”

Jellal blinks, surprised at the question. “I thought you didn’t come here to visit.”

Erza gives him a little smirk. “The discussion of awful oncoming bloodshed is out of the way. Seems perfectly appropriate for me to ask about your well-being.”

Jellal tilts his head; he can’t argue with that. “Fine, I suppose... things have been... fine. Maybe good, even, but I’m not one to jinx things.”

Erza nods, but she doesn’t look at him. He watches her red hair cover her face as she looks down, studying her boots on the forest floor. “I know you’re not going to bring it up,” she says softly, “so I will.” She looks at him finally, an odd mixture of mirth and desperation playing on her face. “Meredy told me about Erik. Well, wrote to me about him, I suppose.”

Jellal opens his mouth, chest tight, and he says, “I’m sorry.”

Genuine confusion flashes on the woman’s face. “Why?” She blinks, studying him. A little, tentative smile creeps on her lips. “Did you think I’d be sad? Why would you being happy make me sad?”

“I...”

“Jellal,” Erza says, and she takes his hands in hers. “If you wanted to be with me, we would be together. You and I both know that.” She peers at him, almost curious, and he fights the instinct to shrink under the gaze. “That wasn’t something you wanted to let in, or to fight for, and that’s okay. You have to take care of you.”

“I’m sorry,” Jellal says again, like he can’t stop it from coming out of his mouth. 

“There’s no need,” Erza insists, leaning in. “If... if you promise me one thing.”

“Of course,” he says, and he doesn’t count on his voice shaking the way it does, but he tries not to focus on that. 

Erza looks at him steadily, and moves a hand to place it on his chest. “You have a hard heart. It’s alright; it’s only appropriate that you do. But the softness inside suffers when you keep it hard like that.” 

He doesn’t know what to say; the silence is curious, unknown to him, and he wants to speak, although he knows nothing will come out. 

“Follow that softness.” She says this so quietly, it’s almost a whisper. “Your walls are constant. Don’t do to him what you did to me. Don’t show desire and then close the gates.”

His hand is shaking in hers, and she grips harder. A beat, and she lays her head on his shoulder. 

“Don’t forget his heart is only hard the way yours is. The softness hurts there too.” It’s mumbled into his shirt, but he hears it. She sighs. “I’m tired of meeting only under violence.” Erza breathes soft, and looks back up at him, raising her head. Her eyes are glassy. “But when we meet again we’ll be at war. Some things are inevitable, aren’t they?”

Jellal’s mouth tightens, and he finds himself still shaking, but his teeth grit. He thinks about his hardened heart, but what brought the walls up? What has left them all aching, stretching for heat and recoiling from the flame?

“I’ll kill him. I will. Zeref. I’ll end all of this. I’ll kill him.”

Erza only looks at him calmly. “Jellal, revenge is for people with nothing to lose.” She gives the smallest of smiles. “And right now, that’s not you.”

••••••••••••

He sees her off, something hard and hot in his chest. The point of pain pulses, straining, stuttering; and yet it feels like honey pouring from his lungs into his stomach, warm and slow. 

Later, he sits with Erik in the tent as the rain begins to fall, the clouds finally pouring their pregnant bellies onto the valley. 

Erik asks what Erza had visited about, his eye a bit sly, mouth thin but curious, and Jellal tells the truth. About the war, anyway. 

Erik is quiet for a long while. Then, he says, slowly, “We’ll thrive on the battleground.”

Jellal feels warm, that distant feeling of knowing he is not alone in this. He has always been his best in the midst of war. 

“I suppose it’s easier when we all have an enemy in common,” he says, and Erik quirks a brow at him. 

“Something like that, I guess.” Erik gives a little smile. “You know what feels best, though? Not thinking of killing him; or you, or any of the cult members, nothing like that.” He tilts his head. “My revenge? That I found a way to be happy, even in that awful place. That’s the spite. That I didn’t break, not one bit, because I had a friend.” Jellal watches as Erik’s fave goes suddenly somber.   
“Even when I can’t feel it,” he says softly, “that still exists. He can’t take that.”

“I wish I had better memories of that time,” Jellal says, thinking of having seen that young boy running around, determined not to let his laughter die. “Or maybe I don’t. Maybe I don’t.”

Erik gives him a strange look, and shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. It’s over, anyways.” He stretches slightly, sighing, and eyes Jellal curiously. He reaches out, only slightly hesitant, and rubs his thumb at the tattoo on Jellal’s face. He tilts his head, touching the line of his scar with his other hand. “We’re twins,” he says, almost amused. 

Jellal can’t help the way his brows quirk, but he leans into Erik’s warmth, now very aware of his addiction and, with an honest heart, adamantly craving another hit. Whoever said the first step to getting sober was admitting you had a problem didn’t know shit. 

He curses under his breath when he kisses Erik, the scratch under his skin singing even harder, and they move together, like simply touching can make them one body now. Jellal knows his skills in giving comfort may be quite limited, that he’s stunted, but that doesn’t mean he won’t do his best. 

It’s funny how he’s breathless even though the heat of Erik’s skin feels like breathing as you break from the water; and he’s saying, “Let me take care of you,” and sliding down Erik’s body like he knows what he’s doing (he doesn’t).

Erik looks at him like he’s gold, or rubies, or something better, eye wide and studying Jellal’s every move like he might die if he forgets one detail. 

This is how Jellal falls to the altar of a tan hipbone, to dark hair and silk-skin, and prays until he watches that prayer paint Erik’s skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Erza just showin up lookin fine as hell like “heeey bish it’s the one that got away was good”
> 
> Comments keep me going <3


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has it been ages? Uh, yes. But I moved, and also writer’s block, so. 
> 
> Ending + Epilogue below

  
Jellal finds his shoulders ache as he sits up in the tent; the light is soft, and Erik is nowhere to be found. It’s not much of a concern, though; the man often sneaks away in the morning, if only for a moment. It still must be quite early, Jellal recognizes, so he throws on a blanket over his thin nightclothes, and walks outside.

The sun is rising into a silky sky, dusted with clouds in the pink dawn. The chill in the air curls and cascades, an ephemeral memory of coolness that will be gone in an hour or two in the summer heat. After a moment, Jellal spots the figure he’s looking for sitting on a rock not too far from camp.

He approaches softly, not caring to announce himself; he knows his friend will hear him coming anyway.

“Morning,” he says, and Erik nods without looking away from the sky. It’s strangely comforting, so Jellal sighs and plant himself down onto the boulder beside Erik, dried lichen peeling up to poke at his thighs.

The blanket cloaks him from the breeze, and Erik lets off his own warmth, which Jellal can feel even from a foot away; he wonders idly if all the Dragonslayers run a little hot. It certainly seems possible, with their unique physiology.

“I wonder if Big Baddie knows we’ll be coming to visit,” Erik comments, an eyebrow raised. Jellal lets out a snort.

“I’m not sure if he even knows we’re all alive,” Jellal says, and it must be a possibility, he thinks; although who knows how omniscient Zeref might have been able to become. “The element of surprise would certainly be helpful, though, wouldn’t it?”

Erik gives a blank nod; he seems to pause, and crinkles his nose. “We’ll have to take a ship, won’t we?”

“I have heard that’s generally how sailing, works, yes,” Jellal says. The sarcasm may not be necessary, but it _is_ entertaining.

Erik rolls his eyes. “Not an ounce of sympathy, huh?”

“You wouldn’t want it,” Jellal answers, surprised at his own flippant tone, and Erik blinks.

“No,” Erik admits after a moment. “No, I guess not.” He tilts his head. “Huh.”

Jellal pulls his blanket back tighter around himself; the sun is starting to break the tree line, a brilliant glare painting the tops of conifers golden. “Thank you,” he says softly; not to anyone in particular, although of course Erik hears him.

“For what?”

Jellal shrugs. “Well. I guess I thought I’d be dead a long time ago. So maybe every nice moment is a pleasant surprise.”

Erik looks at him carefully, just a little too discerning; before he snorts. “That’s depressing.”

“Well, you’ve met me, haven’t you?”

Erik laughs again, shaking his head.

Jellal breathes, giving into the feeling of his chest cracking open like a seed. The pain eases after a moment, and he tries to look softly at Erik, but he’s aware the sun in his eyes probably turns it into more of a glare. If Erik notices, he doesn’t say anything.

The man looks back at him coolly, lifts a brow. “You’re pensive this morning,” he says. “Although, when aren’t you.”

It’s a fair statement, and the alternative to letting it pass would be admitting that he never feels more solid in his own body, more mindless but physical, more tangible than when Erik is touching him; Jellal’s not quite up for that yet. But that’s fine, he decides. Maybe Erik isn’t either.

The coin feels heavy on his chest, and yet terribly light, as if it could float away from him at any moment. He breathes, and looks instead to the gold of Erik’s brow in the sunlight. “At least we got in a bit of fun before heading for certain death.”

Erik looks at him, gives a small grin and a cocky look. “Well, now. Let’s not be dramatic.” He slips a bit closer to Jellal. “There’s always time for more.”

•

Jellal is coughing as the dust swirls under this feet; the crowd of people stands close, and he spots the wine-colored head he’s looking for with a panicked ache in his chest. Erza calls for him as he passes; probably angry that he’s even out of bed, but he’s already made a habit of pissing her off; no reason to stop now.

He reaches Erik, Dragonslayers and the members of Crime Sorciere crowded around him; and perhaps it’s the injuries, or the stress of the situation, or maybe he really has lost it after all, because he grabs Erik’s face with both hands. It is quite, quite far from tender, his nails pressing sharply into the man’s flesh. Erik gives him a shocked look; there’s too much happening at once, for both of them, Jellal thinks.

“You could have gotten yourself killed,” Jellal says sharply, voice still rough and damaged in his throat, and instantly recognizes how terribly hypocritical it is of him; there are still bandages covering whole swathes of his skin. But he’s angry, and yes, it’s irrational; but he doesn’t care.

Erik seems to realize the futility in pointing out said hypocrisy to Jellal; he’s wised up a bit after all, maybe. “Yeah,” he answers eventually, cheeks still pressed into a fleshy puff by Jellal’s hands. “But here’s the thing: not actually dead. So, there’s that.”

“You awful idiot,” Jellal grunts, ribs giving a painful spasm, which he dutifully ignores. He gives Erik a final glare; it’s met with a calm yet curious expression, and that’s infuriating, so Jellal kisses him.

Several things happen at once; there’s a wolf whistle, which Jellal will bet money was Macbeth; a deep, affectionate sigh, and that’s probably Erza, or Meredy, or both. Someone says, “Wait, Jellal’s still alive?” And he’s guessing that’s one of the Dragonslayers. A second later, just as Jellal is parting from Erik’s lips, he hears, “who’s _Jellal_?” which also comes from a Dragonslayer; one he doesn’t recognize.

Well, he’s managed to create quite a confusion, hasn’t he?

Erik gives him a look that is half wondrous, half overcome with laughter, and he shakes his head. After a moment; and Jellal realizes he’s still holding the man’s face in a death grip, and so relinquishes him; Erik clears his throat. “So there _is_ time for more fun before we die, then?”

 _If I don’t kill you myself_ , Jellal thinks, looking into Erik’s smirking face. It’s probably best not to say out loud, though. Although it may be unexpected, there’ll be plenty of time to get him back for it later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Where is Jellal?”  
> “Who is Jellal?”  
> “WhY IS JELLAL?”
> 
> You might ask; Well, did they have hot “thank god we’re alive” sex? Yes, they did. Or, well, sort of. That type of sex is difficult when you still have some broken ribs (blame Jellal, is what I’m saying). But after a couple failed attempts, I’m sure the true thank-god-we’re-alive sex will be well worth the wait. Even if it takes a week or two to get there. 
> 
>  
> 
> Welp. We did it (finally). This is my first long term fic that I didn’t have, like, half the chapters written in advance. They were all one-by-one. And truthfully I’ve been wanting to finish this for ages; but endings feel so daunting, don’t they? Anyways, thanks to anyone who’s stayed with me on this journey this long. It’s been a ride, and maybe I’ll see you around for other projects. 
> 
> Oh, and tell me what your favorite melodramatic Jellal moment was, because he had a lot of those. 
> 
> Love ya!


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